The Last Mile
by Susan82
Summary: Battered and bruised, the guys receive coordinates leading them to some unfinished business. Technically a sequel, although reading the previous story is not necessary. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Takes place sometime after The Benders…way before the mind-blowing start of season two. Also takes place about three weeks after the events in my little tale- Dude, Where's My Car? I've tried my best to include as much of the plot from Dude as I could, so hopefully you can follow along if you haven't read it. But if you have the time and the desire, I'd recommend giving at least the last two chapters a quick glance. )

**The Last Mile**

One foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left. Sam could almost hear his father's words in his muddled brain as he kept his eyes focused on his brother's back. Hold on; was his dad here, too? Sam stopped short, wobbling a little as the earth seemed to roll under his feet. Turning his aching head slowly around, he was somewhat disappointed to see only Dean. Wait, make that two Deans. And here comes a third. Sam pushed his fingertips hard into his forehead, trying to transfer the pain from the back of his skull if only for a moment. Screwing his eyes shut he could only hope that when he opened them he'd be back to having just one brother. He didn't know if the world could handle more than one Dean Winchester.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he opened his eyes. The three Deans slowly merged back into one. One problem solved. Now, where was his dad?

"Dad's gone." he remembered, mildly surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. He and Dean had been searching for their missing father for over six months. Sam gasped as a sharp pain hit him, although it was hard to tell which hurt worse; the pain in his skull or his broken heart.

"Sam?"

Sam lifted his head out of his hands to see Dean limping towards him. Raising himself to his full height, Sam tried to pull himself back together. Dean seemed to be hurt just as bad, or perhaps even worse. Sam had to be strong for the both of them.

"I'm good, Dean. Just taking a breather." Sam tried to force a smile, not quite meeting his brother's eyes.

Sam blinked as he took in Dean's disheveled appearance. Blood covered the left side of his face from the gash on his forehead. His blue shirt was torn in two places, blood from the wound on his head mingling with the blood from his shoulder injury. Sam tried to remember exactly what had caused all the damage. He vaguely recalled an airborne Dean hitting the wall then sliding to the floor. Of course, Dean being tossed around like a ragdoll was as common as the sun rising and setting. Sam had another flash; Dean hung by his wrists in a dark cave like a slab of meat. The wendigo! Were they still in danger?

Sam looked around at the surrounding trees, raw fear beginning to build. "Dean, we've gotta get out of here!" he exclaimed, grabbing Dean's good arm.

Dean stumbled back as he tried to keep Sam steady. "Easy! Sam, calm down. Everything's ok."

Dean took a swipe at the blood that continued to trickle down his face. The light from the three quarter moon made the blood appear black, as if Dean had been in a tar pit. Maybe that was what happened. Sam's head hurt so badly he found it hard to form any rational thought.

Sam blinked as a hand appeared before his face. "What?"

"I said, do you think you can make it? The car's only about fifty yards away." Dean leaned on his shotgun as he spoke.

Sam looked down, surprised to see a shotgun in his own hand. They were armed. That was potentially a good thing. While it meant that they could protect themselves, it also meant that they were hunting something. Judging from Dean's calm demeanor, they must have been successful. Sam couldn't put it off any longer. Although he knew it would push mild-mannered Dean into Super Overprotective Brotherman, he had to ask.

"What happened?"

Dean's features seemed to darken in the bright moonlight. "What do you remember?"

"Obviously not a lot, if I'm asking." Sam retorted.

Dean gave his little brother a good once over. Although Sam's face was hidden in shadows, he was willing to bet unfocused, unequal hazel eyes were looking down at him right now. He seemed to be oblivious to the wound in his upper thigh. Sam would be pissed when he did notice; those were his favorite pair of jeans. Dean tried not to think of what other injuries Sam might have. His only concern was getting them back to the motel room where he could fully assess their injuries. With any luck a trip to the emergency room wouldn't be needed.

"Tell you what. You just concentrate on getting back to the car, and I'll tell you the whole thing as your bedtime story tonight." Dean's weak attempt at humor could not mask the worry in his voice.

Sam nodded once, wincing as the little men who seemed to have burrowed their way into his head switched from hammers to grenades. "Ow."

Dean winced sympathetically. "Come on. Only a little bit further."

Dean waited until Sam was a few steps ahead of him to drop his guard. Bending at the waist, he rested his forehead on the butt of the shotgun and blew out a deep breath. Not only was there a gaping hole in his shoulder, he seemed to have dislocated it as well. He could take some comfort that while his knee twinged with every step, he didn't think it had suffered any permanent damage.

Sam was several feet ahead of Dean, moving slowly towards the road. Weaving slightly he grabbed the nearest tree and leaned his lanky body against the trunk.

"Sam?" Dean called out.

Dean's voice seemed to kick start the injured man as Sam instantly pushed away from the tree and continued forward. Dean followed suit and trudged through the trees. He worked to keep his exhaustion in check, repeating the same mantra his little brother was reciting in his head. Right. Left.

Dean's head shot up as a dull thump broke the silence. In his dark blue jacket and jeans, Dean could barely make out the form of his brother as he lay on the cold ground. "Dammit, Sam."

In his haste to get to his fallen brother, Dean caught his foot on a root and fell forward, landing in a heap next to a semiconscious Sam. Dean cried out as he landed on his injured shoulder. Resting his forehead against the earth he slammed his left fist on the ground as he breathed through the pain. As the flame in his shoulder went from high to medium Dean used his good arm to push himself into a sitting position. A glance to his left showed Sam had done the same.

"You ok?" Sam asked shakily.

"Just peachy." Dean answered through gritted teeth. Face to face, Dean was finally able to see the glassy look in Sam's eyes. Whatever doubt he might have had was erased when he saw the unequal pupils staring back at him. Definitely a concussion. Dean wanted nothing more than to get under the warm covers and sleep for two days straight. Instead he would have to pay vigil to his concussed brother. That is, if they even managed to get to the motel in the first place.

"Come on, Sam. We can't stay out here forever." Using his shotgun and a nearby tree Dean pulled himself to his feet. Sam shook off Dean's helping hand and got to his feet using the same method. Side by side they slowly made their way out of the forest.

Even Sam had to admit Dean's dirty old Chevy never looked so good. The soft leather seats and the heater would soon be warming his chilled skin. Sam pulled out his set of keys, surprised to see Dean doing the same.

"What are you doing? You can't drive?" Sam said incredulously.

"Excuse me?"

"You can barely walk, you've got a head injury, and from the looks of it you've dislocated your shoulder." Sam said, motioned to Dean's slumped shoulder.

"I don't need to walk to push the pedals. And this," Dean said pointing to his forehead, "is just a scratch."

"_And_," Dean continued, effectively cutting Sam off, "I can drive with one arm. Remember that cemetery in Pineville?"

"Dean…"

Dean held up three fingers. "How many fingers?"

Sam blinked a few times before giving a defeated sigh. "Which one of you?"

Dean nodded his head. "Uh huh. Get in." he said as he headed over to the driver's side of the Impala.

Dean groaned as he maneuvered his sore body behind the wheel. Dean was just about to start the car when he heard the familiar ring of his cell phone. A moan not totally associated from his aches and pains escaped his lips as he flipped it open. At three in the morning it could only be one person. While Dean would normally be thrilled at a phone call from his father, he had a feeling he knew what lay in store.

His suspicions were confirmed as he saw the coordinates on the screen. They'd just barely escaped with their lives, and now they were being thrown into another potentially deadly situation. Perfect.

"Dad?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded.

"Coordinates?"

"Yep."

"Perfect."

Dean had almost reached the ignition when a sharp pain hit his shoulder. Dangling the keys, he beckoned to Sam for assistance. "Give me a hand, here."

Sam just sat there, staring straight ahead. Dean had to say his name twice to get his attention. Finally Sam looked over at Dean.

"Skin walker." He said simply.

"What?" Dean was confused.

"Skin walker." Sam repeated. "That's what we were hunting."

"I guess you still have a few marbles rolling around up there after all." Dean flashed Sam a grin.

Sam didn't smile back. "Did we get it?"

"Eventually, yeah."

"Oh. Ok."

Dean was starting to get worried. "Sam, what day is it?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, do we really have to do this? I'm tired, and I have a headache."

"Humor me. Hey!" he exclaimed as Sam's had began to droop. "Don't start that crap on me. Stay awake, Sam. You've gotta help me navigate."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut as he tried to focus. "I'm ok. And it's Tuesday."

"Good. Now, start the car." Dean jingled the car keys to get Sam's attention.

Wearily Sam leaned over and did what he was told. Leaning his aching head against the cool glass of the side window he began to protest as cold air assaulted him from the air vents.

"Sorry, kid. It'll help keep you awake. The motel's only about seven minutes away. See if you can find the coordinates Dad sent us." Dean clumsily flipped Sam his cell phone.

Awkwardly balancing a flashlight, Dean's phone and a map, Sam searched for their next destination. The cold air flapping the map around coupled with Sam's hazy brain made the task a frustrating one. Finally he was able to find where their dad wanted them to go. "Danbury, New York."

Danbury. That name rang a bell for some reason. "Where is Danbury?" Dean racked his brain, trying to remember where he'd heard that before.

"I don't know. Middle of New York I think." Sam's speech was slightly slurred as he leaned his head back against the window.

Dean's eyes widened as the events of a month ago hit him. "The Mustang."

"Hmmm?"

Dean couldn't use his right arm to slap his brother awake, so he resorted to shouting his name until Sam finally sat upright.

"What, already?" Sam glared over at the driver.

"Danbury. That's where we ran into the ghost car. Remember? The Mustang that tried to run us down?"

"Do you think something else has happened? We didn't really look into it after we left." Sam's worry was evident.

"Nah. He probably found a few old articles about it and wants us to check it out. He has no way of knowing we already dusted that wimpy car." Dean wasn't sure who he was trying to convince; Sam or himself.

"But what if there's something more? What if we didn't vanquish it?"

Dean pulled the car into the motel parking lot. "Let's get cleaned up and we'll check it out in the morning. I'm sure it's nothing, Sam."

Helping a wobbly Sam into their motel room, Dean hoped that his predictions would be accurate. But given their track record, he and Sam were in for one bumpy ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean saw with great relief that the cut on the back of Sam's head did not require stitches. He'd had a bitch of a time dealing with the gash on Sam's leg. Luckily Sam was able to help him sew up that wound.

Sam hissed as Dean tossed the bloody towel onto the bed. "Well, I'm awake now." he muttered as he gingerly probed the area. "How did I get this, anyway?"

"Getting tossed against a tree. A big one." Dean winced at the memory of Sam's head cracking against the wood.

"You, too?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I got the double-play. Thrown at a tree, landed on it's fallen buddy."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. You land in a bush; I get a trunk. How is that fair?" Dean handed Sam the first aid kit and sat next to him on the bed.

Sam did an admirable job patching up Dean's shoulder considering his physical condition. Although Dean's left hand had steadied the shaky man more than a few times, neither one of them commented on it.

"We've gotta pop your shoulder back in." Sam said as he put in the last stitch.

Dean was no stranger to having his shoulder popped in and out. However, that didn't mean he was used to the pain. On the bright side, a few more times and he figured he would be able to do Mel Gibson's Lethal Weapon trick. Yet another weapon to impress the ladies.

Dean scooted back until he was leaning against the wall. Sam teetered a bit as he stood up, then sat right in front of Dean.

Sam's face was ashen, his eyes still slightly hazy. Dean's worry extended to both of them. "Dude, are you sure you're up to this? If you pull wrong…"

"The only other option is the hospital." Sam pointed out. Dean nodded. Putting his head down, he shut his eyes tight and waited for the inevitable wave of pain to hit.

It wasn't just a wave. It was a tsunami of agony that started at his shoulder and went through his entire body. He was vaguely aware that his own scream of pain had mingled with another's. Then, it was over. Dean slumped against the wall, panting as if he'd just run one of his father's ten mile "jogs around the park". He opened his eyes, prepared to verbally rip his brother a new one. But he was alone on the bed.

"Sam?"

A moan came from beside him. Sam was sitting on the floor in between the two beds. His hands were gripping his head as it rested upon his knees. Dean eased himself onto the floor.

"Hey. You with me?" Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Mmmm."

"Come on. Let's get you off the floor." Dean slowly rotated his right shoulder a few times. It still hurt like a son of a bitch, but it would heal. Placing his good arm around Sam's back, he carefully maneuvered Sam onto the bed. "You know the drill. Every two hours."

Sam's mumbled reply was muffled as he burrowed his aching head into the pillow.

Full of nervous energy, Dean began pacing around the room. As he passed by the laptop, he remembered the text message. What were the chances that his father would stumble across the same supernatural occurrence that Sam and Dean had faced not even a month earlier? It was either an eerie coincidence, or somehow he and Sam had set forth a situation that sent out a red flag. Dean hoped for the former, although deep down he knew better.

Booting up the laptop, he settled in for a long night of research.

He supposed he should be a little freaked out that he was flying hundreds of feet in the air, but yet it seemed as natural as apple pie. Spying a hole in the clouds below him, Dean angled his body towards the break. Cutting through the clouds like a knife through butter, he now had a clear view of the lush green earth miles below. He wasn't exactly one for nature, but he had to admit the view was breathtaking.

The only thing ruining this perfect day was the incessant chirping in his ear. Turning his head towards the noise, he was expecting to see a large crow, or perhaps an annoying seagull. But to his surprise, flying side by side with him was a little red hummingbird. Dean tried waving it away, but found his right arm would not respond to his commands. The chirping seemed to grow louder; Dean was finding it hard to concentrate. He tried once again to get rid of the pesky little bird, but his arm still refused to cooperate.

"What the...?" Upon inspection, he was shocked to see a rope attached to his wrist. He tried pulling on the taunt rope, but to no avail. Suddenly the rope was jerked downward. A sharp pain hit his shoulder as he fell fast through the clouds. Using all his strength he was finally able to stop his fall.

He squinted, trying to see exactly what, or who, the rope was attached to. A tiny figure stared up at him, then gave the rope another gigantic tug. This time his fall was stopped by an outside force. Another rope was tied to his waist, somehow preventing him from losing anymore altitude.

Dean was close enough to the ground to make out the identities of the men holding the ropes. His confusion grew as he saw Sam holding the rope around his waist, and his father preparing to once again yank on the rope attached to his wrist. John's face was unreadable as he gave the rope one last pull, exploding the pain in the falling man's shoulder as he plummeted towards the ground.

"No!" Dean shouted as he snapped his head up. A wall of bright blue was mere inches from his face. Sitting back in the chair, Dean looked wildly around the room before settling back on the computer screen. _System Error. Please reboot_ stood out in white letters on the screen.

Rubbing his face with his left hand, Dean tried to get his fuzzy brain to focus. He was in the motel room. He had been doing research on the computer and must have dozed off. His little high flying adventure was just a dream. Dean didn't even want to begin to try and interpret that little doozy. Apparently Sam didn't quite have the market cornered on whacked out dreams.

Sam!

Dean shot to his feet as he remembered his concussed younger brother, asleep in the bed next to him. He had woken Sam up twice; pleased at the alert, if not somewhat agitated response he received. Dean glanced at his watch, relieved to see he'd only been asleep for a little more than three hours.

"Sam. Oh, Sam." he sing-songed as he gently shook the sleeping man's shoulder. "Come on, Shorty, time to get up."

Sam grumbled something, but did not open his eyes.

"Didn't quite catch that, Sammy boy." Dean teased.

"I said, 'I'm taller than you.'" Sam said, finally opening his bleary eyes.

"Sure, _now._ But I was taller than you for almost twenty years. You were "Shorty" a lot longer than you were this long legged monkey-boy." Ah. Nothing chased away the morning blues like picking on one's sibling.

Wincing, Sam sat up and leaned his head against the wall. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven." Dean turned serious as he studied his brother. "How do you feel?"

"I'm ok." Sam focused his eyes. An odd expression crossed his face as he looked at Dean.

"What?"

Sam didn't answer, just continued to stare.

"Dude, what's you problem?" Dean said, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

He was even more unsettled as Sam burst out in laughter. Dean wasn't sure if he should remain cross, or join in the festivities.

He chose the latter. "What's so funny?" he smiled at Sam.

"Just go look in the mirror, Waffle Boy." Sam said through his guffaws.

Dean's smile faded as he saw what had set Sam off. The skin on his right cheek was indented from where he had fallen asleep on the keyboard. Dean vigorously rubbed the area, trying to smooth away the criss-cross pattern. Well, that explained the annoying chirping he'd heard in his dream. The little hummingbird was really the laptop yelling at him to go sleep somewhere else.

Irritated, Dean tried to see the bright side. At least it had brought a smile to Sam's face. After what Dean found out in his searching last night, it would probably be the last one of the day.

His skin red but otherwise unmarked, Dean went back in to check on Sam. The younger man had made it to his feet and was rifling through his duffle bag. Dean grabbed his chin and forced Sam's eyes to his.

"Seriously, Sam. You're ok?"

Sam patiently waited until Dean was through with his inspection. "Just a headache. I'm good."

Sam was telling the truth. Well, mostly. He still wasn't quite clear on the events that had lead to their current physical conditions, but the double vision and dizziness had passed. A few aspirin would hopefully put a dent in his headache.

As if reading his mind, Dean held out four white pills. Sam accepted them, but not before giving Dean a once over. "How's the shoulder?"

Dean slowly rotated his right shoulder, biting his lip. "It'll be ok."

"I think we have a sling in the car." Sam said, even though he knew what response he'd get.

Dean shook his head. "The only thing I need is for you to take those pills." To prove his point, Dean defiantly crossed his arms, working hard to keep his discomfort from showing.

"Whatever." Heading into the bathroom, Sam called back, "So, do we know anything about those coordinates?"

The cold water felt almost as good as the pills soon would. When Dean didn't answer right away, Sam repeated his question. This time he got a response.

"Uh, yeah. I found some recent articles dad must have stumbled upon." Dean's voice belied an uneasiness that Sam found unsettling.

Sam came back to see Dean in front of the laptop. A few keystrokes later Dean had pulled up a newspaper article dated a week and a half after they hightailed it out of Danbury. Sam got past few paragraphs, then closed his eyes and began massaging his temples. He wasn't quite up for tiny words on a brightly lit screen.

Resuming his position on the bed, Sam motioned for Dean to continue. "So there was an accident on Blue Corner's Road? That's where the ghost car was, right?"

"Yep. Only it wasn't just one accident. Over the past three weeks, seven people have reported seeing the Mustang. Two were run off the road, one turned around before it could come after him." Dean paused, not wanting to continue.

Dean clicked on the most recent article. "The others weren't so lucky. Two people survived head-on collisions, one was hit in the driver's side. And one…" Dean broke off.

Sam's face had paled. "Dean, no."

Dean cleared his throat. "An elderly woman is in a coma. She was the latest victim. Her husband said the Mustang hit them so hard it locked onto their bumper. The cars spun around several times before coming to a stop. Just before he lost consciousness, he said the Mustang vanished into thin air."

Sam felt all the strength leave his body. He could barely feel the lumpy bed beneath him. "That doesn't make any sense. The car wasn't real. I mean, it…it was just a specter. It wasn't corporeal! We drove right through it!"

"Believe me, I'm well aware of that. But the fact remains that these accidents started happening right after we left. It can't be a coincidence. We did something that night to make things worse." Dean felt as sick as Sam felt.

"The other people, are they all right?" Sam held his breath, willing Dean to say that everyone survived without injury.

Dean clicked around some more. "For the most part. Broken bones, whiplash, cuts and bruises. The old woman was the worst one."

"If she dies…" Sam; voice caught in his throat.

"We're responsible." Dean finished.

For a few moments neither spoke, each lost in his own grief and guilt. Finally Dean lowered the computer screen and turned to face Sam.

"I'll be damned if one more person gets hurt because of that poor excuse for a car." Dean's green eyes held a deadly look to them. "Get your stuff. We're heading to Danbury."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stared at the brown sack in his lap. Whether the nauseous feeling he was experiencing was from the concussion or from his guilt, Sam wasn't quite certain. All he did know was that he couldn't bring himself to force down the hamburger Dean had bought him a few miles back.

"You really need to eat that." Dean said.

"And you really should have let me drive." Sam shot back.

"Like I'm really letting you behind the wheel of my car. Don't think I didn't notice you staggering all over the room before we left. You're still not over your concussion, Sam. Until you are, I'll do the driving. Besides, it's my car!" Dean pointed a stern finger at Sam. "Now, eat."

"I can't believe I let this happen." Sam said quietly, abruptly bringing the focus back to what was really on both of their minds.

"We, Sam. _We _let this happen." Dean corrected.

"You weren't the one driving, Dean. It was my idea to drive at the car. I'm responsible for all those people getting hurt." Sam slammed his hand against the door in frustration.

"It was a logical assumption, Sam. At the time, it seemed to have done the trick. And before you go playing up the martyr, don't forget that I was the one who made us get the hell out of there so fast."

"Besides," Dean continued, trying to absolve his brother's guilt, "the car had only appeared during the full moon. Technically, nothing should have happened for another week. We had no way of knowing this would happen."

Sam sat in a stony silence, staring out the side window. Dean made valid points, but it still didn't change the fact that he knew in his heart he could have done more. After they'd left Danbury, Sam had only halfheartedly searched for information on the ghost car. The few tidbits he'd found had pretty much confirmed that his hypothesis for sending the ghost car to that big parking lot in the sky was correct. Maybe if he'd spent a little more time checking into the past he would have found the reason the car was wreaking more havoc on the little community.

"Sam?" Dean's voice broke through his thoughts.

"How much farther?" Sam responded.

Dean sighed. He recognized the look in Sam's eyes. Dean had seen a similar look in his little brother's face after they'd left Palo Alto, California. It had taken months for Sam to come to terms with Jessica's death, and the consequences of keeping secrets from her. This time around Dean could tell that Sam was going to hold onto his guilt until he could correct his mistakes, and probably some time after that. Dean tried to push away his own feelings of self doubt. One of them had to remain level-headed. It was just Dean's luck that it had to be him for once.

"We've still got a ways to go. Now, eat that burger before I pull over and make you eat it." Dean borrowed his dad's patented "I will not tolerate any arguing" look and aimed it directly at Sam.

Reluctantly Sam opened the bag and pulled out the sandwich. With one hand on his queasy stomach, Sam took a tentative bite. To his relief, his stomach actually seemed to enjoy the modest offering. The more he ate, the calmer his stomach became. At least one part of him was content.

"You should probably take a few more aspirin. Then try to catch a few zzz's." Dean said, not quite ready to let go of his mother hen persona.

"Hey, uh, while you've got it out, hand me a couple." Dean motioned to the bottle in Sam's lap.

"Shoulder?" Sam asked simply.

"It's fine. Just a little tender." It was Dean's turn to hide how truly awful he felt. The pain traveled up his arm, growing in intensity until it exploded in his shoulder. It was as if someone lit a fuse halfway down his arm that led to a pile of C4. If the aspirin didn't help control the pain, he'd be forced to get the sling.

"Come on, Dean. You've been driving for hours. You're just as messed up as I am, if not more. Let me take over for a while." Sam pleaded.

"Tell you what. You get in a few hours of shut-eye, then we'll switch for a while. Deal?" Dean said after he swallowed the proffered pills.

Sam knew that was as close as he was going to get to a compromise. "Fine. Wake me in an hour."

"Two hours. Got it." Dean threw Sam an impish smile before turning down the volume on Kirk Hammett's guitar solo. "Nighty-night, Sammy."

Sam slouched down and shut his eyes. Determined to get in the last word, he threw in a "Bite me," then proceeded to fall asleep almost instantly.

Seventy-five semis, four dead skunks and endless billboards later, Dean was going out of his mind. He'd finally given in and retrieved the sling from the trunk. That, coupled with a few more pain killers had managed to relieve the throbbing in his shoulder. He knew Sam would be pissed that Dean didn't wake him, but the kid really needed the rest.

The final chords of Metallica's The Struggle Within faded away, followed by a loud click. Carefully bringing his left knee up to the steering wheel he leaned over, stretching his left arm towards the tape deck. Dean let out a myriad of curse words as his body protested the awkward position. He had just managed to eject the cassette tape when a blaring horn snapped his head back to the road. He had drifted into the opposite lane; right in the path of an oncoming truck.

Dean jerked himself upright, instinctively bringing both hands to the wheel. With a fast turn and a yell of pain, Dean steered the Impala to the right just as the truck whizzed by. Continuing towards the side of the road, Dean pulled onto the shoulder and painfully put the car into park.

"Son of a bitch!" he swore as he rested his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Too close. Way too close.

"Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes and sat up. Sam was staring at him with sleepy eyes. Dean was glad to see some color had returned to Sam's face. He didn't have to look in the rearview mirror to realize his own complexion was probably as colorless as snow after what just happened.

"Hey, Sam." Dean said wearily.

"What's going on?" Sam asked dully.

"Oh nothing. Just thought I'd pull over and take a moment to enjoy the beautiful scenery." Dean said sardonically.

Observing the uninteresting fields surrounding the highway, and the slightly stricken expression on Dean's face, Sam wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.

"How's the head?" Dean said, absently rubbing his shoulder.

"A bit lopsided. Although your haircut takes the focus away from how enormous it is." Sam's eyes twinkled mischievously.

Sam couldn't help but laugh at the irritated expression on Dean's face. "What, you can make jokes and I can't?"

"You're right. You know why? Because my jokes are funny." Dean shot back as he carefully put his arm back in the sling.

Sam watched his brother's movements, again choosing not to speak.

"It's fine, Sam." Dean turned the key with his left hand, listening to his baby rumble sounds of comfort as the engine started up.

A split second later the Chevy's voice was cut off abruptly as Sam turned the key to the off position.

"Get out. I'm driving."

"Cut it out, Sam. I'm not in the mood." Dean reached again for the ignition.

Sam snaked his hand over and snatched the keys out of the ignition, staring defiantly at Dean.

"Sam." The growl in Dean's voice eerily reminded Sam of a bear preparing to attack. Sam set his jaw, determined to win. He got out, slamming the car door behind him. Marching over to Dean's side, he yanked open the door, repeating his last statement.

Moving a bit too slowly, Dean stood up and stretched his six foot height up towards his taller brother. "Give. Me. The. Keys." he said, punching each word out through clenched teeth.

"Do you really want to do this? I may have a headache, but at least I have full use of my limbs." Sam pointed his chin at Dean's shoulder.

After a moment of quiet deliberation, Dean's exhausted body won out over his pride. "Fine. But if you even get even one scratch on my car, shoulder or no shoulder I will royally kick your ass."

Sam stifled a laugh. Dean wasn't fooling either of them with his tough guy act. He looked as if the flap of a butterfly's wing would topple him over. The big brother role was so ingrained in Dean that it seemed he would never realize that Sam was capable of taking care of himself; of taking care of both of them. Sam had hoped that their recent time together would show Dean that his little brother had grown up. Sam chose to think that Dean's yielding of the car keys indicated that maybe he was starting to see Sam in a new light.

"Deal. Now get in. How far out are we?" Sam slid into the driver's seat.

"Just about two hours." Dean's dismay over losing the wheel to Sam was lessened once he realized he was in position to regain control of the music. Being mindful of Sam's headache, he kept the volume down to a tolerable level.

"Have you had a chance to think about what might have happened?" Sam asked as he steered back onto the highway.

It's all I've been thinking about, Dean thought to himself. The lives we put in danger. "You're the one who did the research on the car. What do you think?"

"I think I should have looked into the car crash a little more." Sam replied regretfully.

"Tell me what you do know." Dean said.

"Ok. The Mustang we ran into--"

"Literally." Dean muttered.

Ignoring the comment, Sam tried again. "The Mustang was owned by a young kid named Marc Lawler. On August 21, 1975 he and another kid played chicken out on Blue Corner's Road. Witnesses said neither driver even tried to swerve. There was a terrible head-on collision. The Mustang caught on fire almost instantly. They weren't able to pull Marc from the car before it exploded. He was only seventeen when he died."

"What happened to his body?" Dean asked.

Sam grimaced slightly. "By the time they were able to put out the fire, there was barely anything left. His parents cremated his remains."

Dean shuddered at the image. With all the time he spent in his car and the reckless way he was often forced to drive, it was a miracle he hadn't been in an accident.

Dean pushed aside the thought.

"And the car?" he asked, getting back to business.

"They scrapped whatever survived the fire. It's long gone." Hearing himself recite the facts, Sam still could not figure out why his plan hadn't worked. More importantly, how had his actions made the situation worse? The car appeared every full moon, replaying the fateful events of that evening over thirty years ago. With the Impala standing in for the other car, reenacting the scenario should have put whatever spirit lingered at peace.

"What about the other driver?"

Sam sighed. "From what I remember, he survived. I didn't really look into it that much, to be honest with you."

"So it must be Marc's spirit we're dealing with. Well, we can't salt and burn the bones; he's already dust." Dean mused.

Sam rubbed his forehead wearily. Every time he tried to concentrate, the marching band in his head would crescendo, culminating in a cymbal crash right behind his eyes. Another thought was nagging at him, adding to the chaos in his brain.

"We also have to figure out our game plan once we get to Danbury." Sam said.

"What do you mean?" Dean's brow was furrowed as he looked over at Sam.

"The last time we were here a girl stole your car, we got in a bar fight with some college kids, and you stole a truck. We're going to have to watch our step, Dean." Sam pointed out.

"Jennifer." Dean growled at the very thought of her putting his car in harm's way. "That blonde bitch had better pray I don't run into her."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed in his "Dude, focus!" voice.

"So we stay away from Chet's Bar and the cops. You did wipe down the truck, didn't you?" In his hurry to get to his car, Dean had forgotten to do so. He could only imagine the looks on the local cops' faces when they discovered that the guy who stole the pickup had died months ago.

"Yeah, I took care of it." Sam reassured him. "But that doesn't mean they don't have a description of us, or have us on camera. We really have to lay low on this one, Dean."

"Don't worry, Sammy. Subtlety is my specialty." Dean said smugly as Sam rolled his eyes. Oh yeah. This was going to be very interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean could barely keep his eyes open as they came upon the small green sign welcoming them to Danbury, New York. He resisted the urge to flip it the bird as they drove past. He'd give anything to know why ghosts prefer to hang out in small little podunk towns.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Dean grabbed onto the dashboard as Sam took the turn into the motel parking lot a bit too quickly.

"Sorry. It slipped." Sam mumbled as he parked the car.

"I mean, why are we stopping?" Dean rolled his eyes. He tried to be patient; Sam was coming off of a head injury. But with nightfall rapidly approaching, they had to move fast before anyone else was injured...or worse.

"We still have a few hours til sundown. You're going to rest while I try to figure out what the hell is going on with the Mustang." Sam replied sternly.

"And don't even think about arguing." Sam cut off Dean's comeback before it could leave his lips.

Although he'd never admit it, he knew Sam was right. All he needed was a quick catnap to recharge his depleted batteries. Then he and Sam could set forth figuring out this mystery.

"Fine." Dean relented. "But you need to find out all you can about this road, about the car. We need to end this thing before anyone else gets hurt."

Their battered bodies protesting, the Winchesters got out of the car. Dean frowned as he watched an unsteady Sam grab onto the door, lowering his head onto his arm as it rested atop the Impala.

"Sam?" Dean's frown deepened as the only answer he received was Sam's palm extended outwards.

Making his way around the car, Dean put his hand on Sam's back. "Hey, Sammy. What's going on?"

Finally Sam raised his head. Dean was shocked at the pale hue that colored his brother's face.

"Stood up too fast. Give me a minute." Sam said, putting his head back down on his arm.

For a brief moment Dean considered calling his father. Normally a case like this would be a piece of cake. A piece of moldy cake topped with razor blades, but one that they could handle. But with Sam's concussion and his own problems, they could definitely use the back-up.

After a few deep breaths Sam felt strong enough to push away from the car. "You go check us in. I'll take care of the bags."

Dean chewed on his lower lip a moment before speaking. "You know, Sam..."

"Dean, I'm fine." Sam said a bit crossly.

Oh, yeah. Clearly. Dean thought to himself.

"Maybe we should call Dad." Dean suggested a bit timidly.

Sam wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Why?"

"Do you really have to ask? Look at us. A twelve year old could kick our asses."

"One already did." Sam cracked, referring to Dean's run-in with the youngest Bender a while back.

"Sam, I'm serious." Dean snapped.

"Ok. So we call Dad. Even if he can come, who knows how long it'll take him to get here. Not to mention the ass-kicking we'll get for dragging him away from the hunt. You yourself said that he's better off alone." Sam pointed out bitterly.

Dean chose not to comment on the irony of their conversation. For months Sam had been obsessed with finding their father while Dean chose to focus on their mission. Now Sam was balking at an opportunity to be together again. But he knew Sam was right. Again. The kid sure had an annoying habit of pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah. I guess." Dean conceded. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

Sam leaned against the trunk, watching his brother walk towards the office. A quick check of his watch revealed less than three hours of daylight remained. If he didn't find a quick solution... Sam pushed the thought away.

After checking to make sure Dean's back was turned, Sam rifled through their bag of disguises. Finding the outfit he hoped he wouldn't need, Sam quickly stuffed it inside his duffle bag.

Sam had just zipped up the bag when he sensed Dean walk up behind him. Sam stood up slowly to avoid another head rush. After giving Sam a quick once-over, Dean led the way to the last door.

Dean groaned as he settled onto the bed. "Oh, that's the stuff."

Sam set up the laptop on the small table by the window. He took a moment to gaze out the window, his worry growing as he saw the red sun setting low in the sky. Soon darkness would swallow the sun, bringing the nearly full moon to hover over the little town. For a split second the sun morphed into a clock, it's hands spinning wildly out of control.

Sam rubbed his eyes hard with his knuckles. Now was not the time to lose it. He had the feeling he was in for a very long night.

Dean's voice floated over to him. "See what you can find on the other car. Maybe we can track down the driver, if he's still alive."

Sam looked over at Dean, who was fiddling with his cell phone. "I know what to do, Dean. Just get some rest."

"One hour, Sammy. I mean it." Dean said sternly.

"Uh huh." Sam muttered, already engrossed in his research.

Dean finished setting the alarm on his cell phone, then placed it on the bed next to the pillow. He knew he could count on his little electronic friend to wake him up; his brother surely would not. If Sam could, he'd let Dean sleep until the middle of next week. While Dean wanted nothing more than to do just that, they had a job to do. The ghost car wasn't going to wait until Dean and Sam were back in fighting form to go after it's next victim.

"Hey, Sam?" he mumbled as he felt sleep begin to slink over him.

"Yeah?"

"We need a plan. In case we can't end it tonight. Keep people off the road." Dean's eyelids drooped lower with each word.

"Don't worry, Dean. I've got it covered."

Dean tried to force himself up at the strange tone in Sam's voice, but found he could not fight his fatigue. His right arm stretched out as far as he could bear it, Dean gave into the darkness.

Sam waited until he was sure Dean was dead to the world before making his move. Holding his breath, Sam edged his way over to Dean's bed. His heart pounded as he slowly stretched his hand towards the sleeping man. Wrapping his long fingers around Dean's cell phone, he cautiously backed away from the bed.

Sam waited until he his back hit the bathroom door before allowing himself to breathe. The fact that Sam was able to carry out his mission without his brother waking up showed how badly Dean needed his rest.

Once he had turned off the alarm, Sam gently placed the cell phone next to Dean. Sam returned to the laptop, desperate to find any information that would explain the strange events happening on Blue Corners Rd. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not focus on the matter at hand. His mind kept drifting to the setting sun, and the innocent people that could possibly lose their lives thanks to his carelessness.

"Screw it." Sam knew there was really only one thing he could hope to accomplish that night. Sam quickly changed into his state police uniform, hoping that although his head felt like it was still two sizes too large, the hat would still fit him. Scribbling a note to Dean, Sam quietly left the room.

Sam sat behind the wheel of the car, wishing there was some way of masking it's booming engine. Sam hoped Dean was too caught-up in dreaming about fast cars and faster women to hear the roar of the Impala. He could practically see an irate Dean bursting through the door, shaking his fist as Sam skulked away in his brother's car.

The street lights blinked on just as Sam turned on the ignition. Sam could see the moon's pale light mocking him from behind the thick clouds. A sudden rush of anger came over him. Well, bring it on!

Sam didn't know if the Mustang would make an appearance tonight, but he would make damn sure that if it did, no lives would be lost.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **My plan to post a new chapter every three to four days was put on hold as a freak "winter" storm left me (and 300,000 others) without power from Thursday afternoon (I missed the show!) until around 8pm Sunday night. Maybe that was my punishment for splitting up the guys and leaving Sam in the cold dark night in my last chapter. So, it's a bit late, but here it is. The next chapter may be a bit late as well. It's hard to handwrite a story while one's fingers are numb from the cold. lol So, please bear with me. I will post again as soon as I've caught up.

While I've got your ear (or 'eyes', I guess) thanks for reading (and reviewing!)!

**The Last Mile**

Night had fallen by the time Sam pulled to the side of Blue Corners Road. The darkness was all consuming, as if a blanket had covered the stars and the moon. Leaving the headlights on, Sam began to set up a row of flares stretching from one side of the two lane road to the other.

Leaning against the front of the Impala, Sam tried to focus his thoughts. He had found no pattern in the recent attacks. According to the local legend, the Mustang had only appeared on the night of the first full moon. Yet over the past three weeks seven cars had been targeted. The first incident occurred a week and a half after the Winchesters' encounter. The rest were spread out at random intervals; different times on different days. Sam hoped that the ghost car would take the night off. However, given past experiences, deep down he knew better.

Sam removed his hat and wearily rubbed his forehead. He could not have been in a fouler mood. His head still felt like it had gone through the rinse cycle. He hadn't eaten anything since that one measly hamburger hours ago, hunger adding to his already intense headache. By all rights he should be under the warm covers recovering his strength. Instead he was by himself, out on some backwoods country road awaiting the possible return of a pissed off ghost car. Not to mention the fact that he was just begging to get arrested for impersonating an officer.

Already getting antsy, Sam reached into the backseat and pulled out a flashlight and his father's journal. No matter how many times he thumbed through the wrinkled pages, the amount of information his father had amassed over the years never ceased to amaze him. Yet he knew they had only scratched the surface. If he allowed himself to ponder the dark unknowns they still hadn't uncovered, he might as well give up on sleep altogether.

The midnight hour found Sam behind the wheel of the Impala, daydreaming about a steaming hot cup of caffeine. Thankfully no automobiles, real or supernatural, had come through. His cell phone had also been blessedly silent, indicating that Dean was still fast asleep.

Just when Sam had allowed himself to think the night would pass without incident, he heard the sound of a motor coming up behind him. Sam could tell by the refined sound of the motor that he was dealing with a modern car. Keeping a wary eye on the road before him, Sam got out of the Impala.

Sam pulled the brim of his hat low onto his forehead. Hopefully the darkness would aid in the masking of his youthfulness. Although it was entirely plausible to be in law enforcement at twenty-three, most people he encountered were skeptical at his identity.

Sam stood a few feet behind the flares, hefting the flashlight from one hand to the other. Another quick check showed the oncoming lane still deserted. Sam sauntered up to the driver's side as a blue Buick came to a stop.

Sam tapped on the window with his flashlight, hoping he looked more authoritative than he felt. Sam aimed the flashlight into the car as the window was lowered.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but this road is closed. You're going to have to turn around."

A woman of about forty-five stared back at him with uncertain eyes. "What's going on?"

"A large tree is blocking the road about a mile up." he answered, flashing her a dimpled smile. "Nothing to be concerned about."

The woman looked from Sam to the road ahead a few times, trying to gauge the situation. With an exaggerated sigh she rolled up the window, muttering under her breath. Sam's confidence rose a notch. She'd bought it.

The Buick executed a sloppy three-point-turn as Sam made his way back to the Impala. Moments later he was alone on the dark road. Not wanting to drain the battery any further, Sam reached in and shut off the headlights.

The last of the flares finally went out a half hour later. Sam wasn't quite prepared for the complete darkness that instantly surrounded him. He couldn't even see his own hand as he waved it in front of his face. Even the black Chevy was invisible as he leaned against the door.

Sam blew warm breath onto his cold hands before jamming them into his pockets. There was still a good five hours until sunrise. Sam fought the urge to warm up in the car. He'd be asleep the second his exhausted body hit the leather.

A quick check on his cell phone revealed no messages. Sam spent the next two hours catching up on his emails, writing to nearly everyone in his address book. By the time he sent his last one, he was back in the relative comfort of the Impala. It was turning into a boring, but pleasantly uneventful evening. Other than the Buick, only one other car had come through. Sam had initially freaked out when he saw a car coming from where the Mustang usually preyed on it's victims. It had turned out to be just an ordinary car, much to Sam's relief.

Sam wiped condensation from the windows for what seemed like the thousandth time. Unable to take the cold anymore, Sam finally gave in and turned on the heater. Instantly he was bombarded by a blast of cold air.

"Come on." Sam cursed through chattering teeth. After a few more moments of torturing her passenger, the Impala began to filter in warm air.

"Ahhh." Sam relaxed into the seat and let out a contented sigh. Despite his best efforts he could feel his eyelids droop. Reluctantly he forced himself to turn off the heater. He wasn't going to give in to the lure of sleep this far into the night.

"Come on, Sam. Just a few more hours." he said to himself. Sam opened the car door and stepped back into the frigid air. If he kept alternating between hot and cold, one little tap and Sam Winchester would crack into a million little pieces. Sam giggled as he envisioned Dean angrily sweeping miniature Sam's into a dustpan, brushing the last few stragglers off of the dashboard. Sam rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. Oh man, he was really starting to lose it.

Sam had just about opened the door when the growl of an engine froze his hand. It wasn't until he saw the beam of light in the rearview mirror that Sam realized his mistake. The noise he'd heard was not the ghost car, but a motorcycle tearing up the road. Quickly turning the car back on, Sam jogged into the middle of the road.

Sam spread his legs wide, one hand shielding his eyes while the other stretched outward as he tried to make himself as visible as possible. Sam moved the flashlight out of the cyclist's eyes as he came to a stop next to Sam.

Sam could tell he was going to have his hands full. The young man exhibited an air of defiance as he looked at Sam's badge. He took of his black helmet and rested it atop his jeanclad knee. Sam bit the inside of his lip as the kid flipped up the collar of his leather jacket in an attempt to look tough.

The kid cocked his head to the side and spoke in a tough voice. "What's the problem, _officer_?" he asked mockingly.

Sam bit his cheek harder to keep his laughter in. The kid couldn't have been more than nineteen years old. Sam worked to keep his face straight.

"We've got a downed tree up the road. You're going to have to find another route." Sam said.

The biker crossed his arms and glared at Sam. "And what if I don't?"

The tough guy act, though still amusing, was beginning to grate on Sam's nerves. Sam shrugged his shoulders and nonchalantly said, "Then you're going to be here a while. 'Cause you're not getting through."

"Oh really."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, kid. You can turn around or we can do this the hard way. It's your choice. But no one is getting through until it's safe." He was not in the mood to take crap from this little wannabe thug.

"Then where'd he come from?" the kid smirked as he pointed a gloved hand.

Sam turned around, a knot growing in the pit of his stomach. From the bright light of the motorcycle's headlight, Sam was barely able to see the dark shape of a car far down the road. No big deal; it wasn't the first car he'd seen come down the road. Of course, this car was idling in the middle of the road…at four-thirty in the morning…with the lights off.

Sam didn't know if the car was preparing to attack, but he couldn't waste anymore time. "Listen. I don't have time to argue with you. Turn your little scooter around and go back the way you came. Now."

"Oh please." The young kid scoffed. "What're you gonna do, arrest me? Handcuff me and put me in the back of your unmarked car? What kind of cop drives a beat-up old junker like that, anyhow?"

The kid had destroyed Sam's last shred of patience. Without even thinking Sam pulled a gun from beneath his jacket. "I'm not going to tell you again. Turn around. Now."

"Whoa. Calm down, alright! I'm going!" After readjusting his helmet, the kid turned his bike around. Popping a wheelie he sped back the way he came.

Sam stood sideways in the road, feeling like he was watching a tennis match as he swiveled his head from the retreating form of the motorcycle to the cavernous darkness where the mysterious car sat. Robbed from the light of the motorcycle Sam couldn't tell if the car was still there, or even if it truly was the Mustang.

Jogging back to his own car, Sam got in and switched on the highbeams. His eyes confirmed what his gut already knew. The black Mustang sat quietly in the dark, reminding Sam of a lion waiting patiently for it's prey.

Sam thought back to their first encounter with the Mustang. It hadn't advanced towards them until Dean had shot a few rounds of rocksalt at it. So technically, it should sit dormant as a lamb unless provoked. However, Sam was not ready to take anything for granted when it came to this car. He put the Impala into drive, pushing so hard on the brake he was afraid it would go right through the floor. If another car happened upon the road, or if the Mustang were to suddenly charge him, he was ready.

For thirty-five minutes the stalemate continued; Sam in his brother's 1967 Chevy versus the driverless 1965 Mustang. The adrenaline coursing through his veins seemed to have taken the edge off of his headache at the expense of his now shaky hands. He had put the Impala back into park, but kept the engine idling just in case. Sam checked his watch, clenching his fist to still his hand. He felt as if he were in the middle of an endless night; an ongoing purgatory to atone for his sins. The pain, discomfort, the heart wrenching anxiety he had experienced on this trip were completely justified. It was a touch of what he deserved for bringing such suffering to the little town. If only he'd spent just a few more hours researching, that poor old woman would be visiting her grandkids instead of lying in a hospital bed struggling to live.

Sam was yanked out of his pity party as the Mustang's headlights suddenly turned on. The engine followed suit, beginning in a low drone that quickly crescendoed into a mighty rumble. Apparently the ghost car was ready to make it's move.

A bright reflection in the sideview mirror caught Sam's attention. Turning around, he was horrified to see two highlights coming from behind. The Mustang revved it's engine, as if acknowledging the new car's presence.

"Oh crap." Sam breathed as he connected the dots. The Mustang had marked it's next victim. Sam was the only one who stood between the innocent driver's life or death.

There was no time to play policeman now. His only hope was to distract the Mustang, pull the focus away from the newcomer. Sam slammed the gearshift into drive, peripherally seeing a white Corvette pass on his left. Gravel spewed into the trees as Sam cranked hard on the steering wheel.

All three cars were on the move. The Impala followed closely behind the sports car; the Mustang racing towards them in the wrong lane. The Corvette sent out multiple warnings, it's horn crying out while headlights flashed on and off. Swerving into the opposite lane proved fruitless as the opposing car followed suit. The ghost car was mere moments away from claiming another victim.

Sam swerved into the oncoming lane, the Impala mimicking the sports car as Sam flipped on the high beams and hit the horn. Sam began to pull ahead as the other driver slowed down. Sam jerked the wheel to the right, coming dangerously close to hitting the other car. Taking the hint the driver slammed on the brakes, fishtailing to a stop.

The intended target gone, the Mustang set it's sights on the Impala. Sam pushed aside the feeling of déjà vu as the two cars raced towards each other. Sam had to shut his eyes against the ghost car's blinding lights. Trusting his instincts, Sam pulled the steering wheel hard to the left a mere second before they were to collide.

Sam's timing apparently needed a little fine tuning. The painful screeching of metal against metal hurt Sam's ears as the Mustang scraped against the Chevy. But Sam had more pressing matters on his mind. His miss with the Mustang had sent him careening onto the gravel shoulder, straight at the thick forest surrounding the road. The steering wheel jumped beneath his hands as tried in vain to slow the vehicle.

Just as he managed to regain control of the car, the headlights shone upon an unfortunate piece of irony. A large tree lay directly in the path of the Impala, it's dead branches covering the shoulder as the trunk inclined towards the unseen base in the woods. A scream was ripped from Sam's throat as he desperately slammed on the brakes. Unable to find purchase on the gravel shoulder, the Impala began to skid. The side of the car slammed into the fallen tree a split second before Sam's head bounced off the side window.

Sam's hands slid off the steering wheel and fell limply onto the seat. He tried to bring them up to cradle his pounding head, but they would not respond. His head began to droop as the strange numbness that had affected his limbs traveled up to his neck. Forcing his head up, he was shocked to see two sets of glowing red orbs moving away from him in the night. Sam's panic increased as his befuddled brain sent him back several years to his near fatal encounter with a pack of hellhounds. Instead of the retreating taillights of the Corvette, Sam saw glowing red eyes of the deadly creatures as they prepared to attack.

The adrenaline that coursed through his veins did nothing to stave the dark void that beckoned him. Unable to resist any longer, Sam gave in to the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **This latest chapter has not been proof-read; I wanted to get it posted while I had the opportunity. So, please excuse any errors that may show up, they are 100 percent my fault.

**The Last Mile**

For the second time in two days Sam found himself in a strange location without any recollection of how he got there. The first thing he noticed was that he was in the Impala in the dead of night. A glance to his right showed he was alone. A look to his left showed…a tree? Further inspection showed that the tree not only barricaded him in, but seemed to have dislodged the sideview mirror. Sam tried to follow the tree to see how far along the car it ran, but a sharp pain in his head told him turning around maybe wasn't such a great idea.

So, near as Sam could figure, he was out for a Sunday drive through the woods in his brother's car, and he had traded in the side mirror for a fashionable new tree trunk. Sure, why not. He would have laughed at the absurdity of the scenario, but he was afraid the sudden movement would set off another explosion in his head.

Sam raised his hand to the side of his head, wincing as he found the small lump near his temple, but relieved at the absence of blood. Sam then ran his hand across his chest, feeling for any other injury.

"What the hell?" he murmured as he felt the metal shield on his chest. Sam tried to remember the last thing he'd seen before losing consciousness. Sam's hazel eyes widened as he recalled seeing blood-red eyes staring him down. Wait, not eyes…brake lights. The Corvette…the Mustang!! Sam's mind cleared as he replayed the events of the night. He had saved the driver of the Corvette, but at a painful price. While he had come out relatively unscathed, Dean's beloved Impala was quite another story.

Sam grabbed the flashlight and let himself out the passenger side. Glancing at his watch, he was relieved to see he'd only been unconscious for a few minutes. Still, that was plenty of time for the other driver to call the cops. He just hoped the Impala would function well enough to make a quick getaway.

Sam moved over to the driver's side of the car to inspect the damage. The Impala rested flush against the large tree, the front half dented from the impact. As he continued his inspection, Sam stumbled as his foot smacked against a hard object. Aiming the flashlight at the ground, Sam was nearly blinded as the light bounced off the sideview mirror.

A shrill ring sounded, sending Sam's already racing heart into overdrive. Sam pulled out his cell phone, looking once more at the fallen mirror. Dean was going to kill him.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Dean stalked around the motel room in a rage. He had woken up in a fine mood. His shoulder, though still stiff, had improved greatly. Sam had undoubtedly discovered the key to solving their little car problem, and together the two of them would send that over-styled trash can to the otherworldly junkyard permanently.

The dark room was the first sign that something was amiss. At the very least he should have been seeing the light from the laptop. Dean had flipped on the bedside lamp, noticing for the first time that he was alone in the room.

"Sam?" he had called out, already knowing he wouldn't receive an answer. His suspicions were confirmed as he noticed the note on the table.

Dean skimmed the note, his eyes narrowed with every word. _Checking out a lead. Wait here…be back soon. Sam_

"Checking out a lead. Checking out a lead?!" Dean had bellowed as he crumpled up the note. Cocking his arm sideways, Dean sent the offending wad of paper spinning towards the opposite end of the room, ignoring the painful awakening of the muscles in his wounded shoulder.

Dean stopped his pacing as he finally caught a glimpse of the red numbers on the tiny alarm clock. Shocked at what he saw, he checked not only his watch, but also his cell phone to confirm the time. 4:45am. He'd slept for nearly nine hours. His anger resurfaced, aimed mostly at himself. He should have known Sam would turn off the alarm. After all, that's exactly what Dean would have done. Now his brother was out who-knows-where, in the middle of the night, in his car.

_Night. Car_. Dean sat down heavily on the bed as realization struck him. Sam had gone out to Blue Corner's Road to take on the ghost car. No. Dean shook his head dazedly. Sam wouldn't be stupid enough to go another round of chicken with the Mustang, especially since their first impromptu game seemed to be the catalyst for the now corporeal state of the car. Maybe Sam really did find a lead. If so, what was it? And where the hell was he?

A quick check showed his cell phone had received no calls in the last two days. Dean chuckled humorlessly. Sure, Sam had turned off the alarm on Dean's cell phone just so he could call and wake him up. "Brilliant, Dean." he said to himself as he scrolled through his list of contacts. Hitting the send button, Dean got up and began pacing. When he heard Sam's voice mail come on he ended the call without leaving a message, then redialed. Once again Sam failed to pick up. Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the tiny picture of Sam on the screen.

"Where are you, little brother?" he whispered. Dean pushed aside his worry. Time to think like Sam.

"Ok, so I directly disobeyed my older brother's orders by not waking him up, and by turning off the alarm on his phone, all the while knowing that I will receive a royal ass-kicking for doing so." Dean spoke out loud, filling the quiet space of the motel room. "Being the massive geek that I am, I of course went to the laptop to do some research."

Dean sat down at the table and opened the laptop. He impatiently tapped his fingertips on the arm of the chair as he waited for the computer to boot up. To his surprise Sam had only been to one web page. Dean could not find anything that gave any indication on how or why the Mustang was still around. Certainly nothing that would be considered a "lead".

Dean reread the information a few times, but found his thoughts kept drifting to their last stay in Danbury. Maybe Sam ran into some of the punks they'd encountered at Chet's bar. Maybe the cops had him. In their haste to get the Impala back maybe they hadn't been as careful as they could have been when they stole the pick-up truck. No, he corrected himself. When _he _had stolen the truck. Sam had wanted no part of it.

This whole damn thing was his fault. If he hadn't been duped by that whore Jennifer, the Impala wouldn't have been stolen, and they would have left without ever knowing of the ghost car. Now eight people had been injured because of him; one lay near death in some cold hospital room. In fact, it was very possible that right this very minute some innocent person was being mowed down by the evil car.

With that final thought Dean instantly knew where Sam had run off to. Dean sat back in the chair, his green eyes wide as he finally figured out Sam's objective. If Sam couldn't save the people of Danbury from the deadly car, he would have use himself as a decoy to keep them out of harm's way.

Dean's emotions bounced from anger at his brother's recklessness, to begrudging admiration, and then finally landing on icy fear. An all too vivid image leapt into Dean's mind; a blood-soaked Sam lying lifeless a few feet from the overturned Impala.

Dean pushed the thought away, voicing an angry, "No!" as he continued his pacing. Now was not the time to panic. Dean decided to call Sam one more time. To his surprise, a tepid Sam answered on the third ring.

"_Um, hello?"_

"Sam!" Dean couldn't disguise his relief at hearing his brother's voice. "Are you ok?"

"_I'm ok."_ Sam answered shortly.

"Where the hell are you? What's going on? Did you run into the Mustang? Is my car ok?" The questions continued to tumble out of Dean's mouth as Sam broke in.

"_Dean…Dean slow down. I'm on my way. I'll explain everything when I get back."_

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"_Yeah, yeah, sure. I've gotta go. Be back soon." _

Dean hung up the phone. There was something odd about Sam's tone; something was definitely up. But he sounded healthy and was on his way back, which meant his car was also in good shape. Slightly comforted by those facts Dean settled back in front of the laptop, determined to make some headway before Sam returned.

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Sam pulled behind battered Chevy behind the motel, avoiding the brightly lit front parking lot. He hadn't heard any reports on him or the car on the police scanner, but he wasn't taking any chances. Best to keep the Impala out of sight for a while. Of course, if it meant delaying the moment when his older brother would see the devastation leveled on his baby, so be it. The old girl had protested the whole way home. Sam's hands were sore from the death grip he'd had on the wheel as he struggled to keep the car straight.

Sam slowly pushed open the driver's side door, grateful it was still functioning. For the first time he was able to get a full 360 degree look at the Impala. Things looked just dandy from the front of the car, except for the missing side view mirrors. The driver's side mirror was salvageable, but the glass from the passenger mirror had spiderwebbed from the impact of the Mustang.

Sam strode over to the passenger side, bending at the knees to take a closer look at the long scratches marring the side of the car. He was mildly encouraged as he ran his hand over the marks. A bit of paint and it would be good as new. Sam's hand automatically reached for the sideview mirror to haul himself back to his feet. His hand swished through the air, and he fell against the side of the car. Well, he thought, a paintjob and a new mirror.

Steeling himself, Sam headed back over to the driver's side. "Oh wow." he breathed. A mean looking dent ran from the bottom of the front wheel diagonally up through the door. Getting his first real look, Sam was surprised he was even able to get the door open at all. Dean was going to kill him. The scratches he might have been able to hide. The mirrors were a relatively easy fix, but this…

He supposed he could put it off no longer. Time to go in and face the music. Maybe Dean would be so impressed that Sam had saved an innocent person from becoming the Mustang's next victim that he would overlook the damaged Impala. Sam snorted and shook his head. Yeah, right.

Sam paused in front of the motel door, his body unwilling to go forward. Sam carefully arranged his bangs to cover the lump near his temple. He'd been tempted to draw attention to it; gather as many sympathy points as possible, then changed his mind. Concerned Dean was almost as bad as Pissed-off Dean, maybe even worse. When the two converged into the mighty Pissed-off Concerned Dean, the results were scarier than his father on his worst day.

"Ok, Sam. Here we go. You can do this." Unmotivated by his pitiful pep talk, Sam pushed the door open.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Hmmm. I _thought _I had uploaded this yesterday, but I must have screwed something up. Apparently the site stated that I had updated, but the chapter didn't post. So hopefully I won't repeat my mysterious mistake again. Thanks to Phx for the head's up...and my sincere apologies for the confusion!

**The Last Mile**

Dean was sitting on the bed, the laptop balanced on his outstretched legs. His hair was still wet from his shower, making it appear almost as dark as Sam's. His head snapped up as the door swung open. Cocking his head to the side, he gave Sam a curious once over.

"Officer." Dean's voice perfectly matched his straight-faced expression as he took in Sam's outfit.

Sam quietly closed the door behind him. Taking a step back he leaned up against it, trying to put as much distance between him and Dean as possible.

"Hey." Sam's voice wobbled a bit, and he cleared his throat. "How do you feel?"

Dean put the laptop onto the bed and folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, just great, Sam. It's amazing what a full night's rest can do." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Sam swallowed hard. He forced a smile. "Good. Good."

"So, I don't suppose you picked up some breakfast on your way back? Donuts, perhaps?" Dean snuck in another dig at his brother's outfit.

Sam turned around and grabbed the door handle. "No, but let me go grab something. I'll be right back."

He'd managed to get the door partway open before it was slammed shut. Turning his head to the side Sam saw his Dean's outstretched arm leaning against the door. His blood chilled as he felt the warm breath of his brother against his ear.

"Where were you, Sam?"

Sam turned back around and looked down at his older brother. Despite their height differences, Sam felt about two inches tall. He tried to find the words, but they wouldn't come. Dean saved him the trouble.

"You went out to Blue Corner's Road, didn't you? You took my car and went out there by yourself." Dean's voice began to get louder.

"We had no way of knowing if the ghost car was going to show last night. I couldn't take the chance that someone else would get hurt." Sam hurriedly explained.

Dean stared at him a moment longer, then backed away. Walking over to the bed he picked up his towel and ran it through his hair.

"So you what, impersonated a cop to try and keep people away from the road?" he asked, his back to Sam.

Sam pushed his hand flat against his stomach in an attempt to calm it. The butterflies that had settled in were now engaged in hostile warfare. He'd expected Dean to be furious with him. Yet he seemed oddly calm, reminding Sam of a rattlesnake warning of an attack.

"Well, yeah." Sam shrugged.

"Did the Mustang show?" Dean began to rub the towel harder. Sam could almost hear the rattling get louder as Dean prepared to strike.

Here we go, Sam thought. "Yes. But I was able to distract it long enough for the other car to get away. No one got hurt."

Dean stopped rubbing his hair. Whirling around, he threw the towel away. "Oh really?" He stormed over to Sam and reached out towards his forehead, stopping as Sam flinched. Pointing, he continued. "I don't recall you having this little beauty mark earlier."

Sam uncomfortably reworked his hair around the lump on his head, wincing as his fingertips brushed the tender area. "This? This is nothing. I'm fine."

Dean's eyes softened as Sam tried to make light of his newest injury. The kid looked like crap. The dark circles under his eyes jumped out from his pale skin. Dean grabbed Sam's chin, tilting the taller man's head down as he tried to assess Sam's condition. Although a bit bloodshot, Sam's eyes were equal and responsive. Even though he was far from fully recovered, he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger.

Sighing, Dean stepped away from his brother. Motioning for him to follow, the two men settled onto their respective beds.

"Ok. Start from the beginning." Dean said. "After you snuck out of here like a coward and stole my car, that is." he added dryly.

Sam recounted the events of the evening, starting with the woman he successfully turned away, and ending with the race to save the Corvette. "I pulled away at the last second. I think I bumped my head against the window. When I woke up the Corvette was driving away, and the Mustang was gone." Sam carefully left the fallen tree out of the story, as well as the current state of the Impala.

Dean had remained silent throughout the story. As Sam wound down he began to nod his head approvingly. "I hate to say it. Believe me, I really hate to say it, but you did all right. You still should have woken me up so I could have gotten your back," he continued, effectively cutting off Sam's smug smile, "but at least you kept everyone else safe."

Dean wasn't quite done reprimanding his younger brother. "You also should have told me you'd hit your head. I can't believe you'd risk driving my car back after sustaining another head injury."

Dean cut off his raving as a thought occurred to him. "Hey, why didn't I hear you pull up? Sam?"

Sam's eyes were cast downward. Dean got up and went to the window. "Sam? Where is my car?" he growled.

Sam finally looked up. "Uh, Dean? There's something I didn't mention."

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"A tree? You hit a fucking tree?" Dean bellowed.

The morning sun provided just enough light to illuminate the various dents and scratches on the classic car. Sam watched Dean circle around the car, taking note of every imperfection. He felt himself get slightly dizzy watching Dean duck and weave as he tried to cover every angle. Averting his eyes, Sam nervously ran his hand through his hair.

"It all happened so fast; there was no time to think. I slammed on the brakes, the car skidded—"

"Where are the mirrors?" Dean interrupted.

Sam risked a quick glance at his brother. The look being aimed at him was usually reserved for the creatures of the night that they hunted. Sam had never experienced being on the receiving end of that look. The rage burning in Dean's eyes was so powerful Sam had to take a step back.

"Um, they're in the backseat." Sam stammered.

The dizziness increased as the last few nights' events caught up with Sam. Determined not to let his weakness show, Sam casually leaned against the trunk of the car. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, trying to tune out the flood of curse words he heard behind him.

Dean held the mirrors in his hands as he too leaned against the car. The mirror in his right hand showed an outwardly calm, if not slightly haggard looking Dean. The cracked mirror in his left hand more accurately reflected how Dean was feeling on the inside; shattered. A few days ago his biggest concern was finding a hot chic and a cold beer. But the skinwalker they'd happened upon had other plans, leaving his shoulder out of whack. Then, one small set of coordinates had brought him back to Danbury to face the consequences of his actions, leaving his confidence crushed. His car, the beloved Impala entrusted to him by his father, had barely survived a makeshift demolition derby. And then there was Sam. The emotions he felt towards his brother were also splintered. Anger, admiration, anger, concern, and more anger.

Dean put the mirrors back and began to walk towards Sam. He quickened his pace as he watched the slumped man begin to slide off the trunk.

"Whoa, there. Where ya going?" he said as he grabbed Sam's shoulders.

Sam blinked wearily. "Sorry."

Just as the morning sun continued to chase away the night, Dean felt his concern push away his anger. Shaking his head, he pulled Sam up. "Come on."

Sam stood straighter, but dug in his heels as Dean tried to pull him forward. "No, Dean. I mean, _I'm sorry_. About everything."

"Dammit, Sam. You sneak out behind my back, nearly get yourself killed, wreck my car, and all you can say is that you're sorry?"

Sam's mouth hung open. "Dean, I did what I thought was best. What else do you want me to say?"

Dropping his hands, Dean took another lap around the Impala before answering. The car really wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought. Some minor body work and she'd be good as new. Dean looked at his exhausted brother and decided to cut him a break.

"Well, you could start by admitting what an enormous geek you are. That you are honored to be in the presence of your handsome, incredibly generous older brother who is not letting you off the hook from the ass-kicking you deserve, but merely postponing it. And that you will do everything thing he says from now on. _Everything_." Dean stressed the last word, flashing a semiserious smile to let Sam know he was only partially kidding.

Sam flashed a relieved smile of his own. "Deal." he said, sticking his right hand out.

Dean looked down at Sam's hand. "See? Right there? Geek. Total dork."

Dean laughed as Sam glared back at him. "Come on. Hit the showers. We've got a ghost car to dust."


	8. Chapter 8

A cloud of steam wafted through the bathroom door, announcing the presence of the new and improved Sam Winchester. The hot shower had warmed his chilled body and eased his aching muscles. He was back in his own uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. A bit of breakfast would take care of his growling stomache, and hopefully some aspirin would chip away at his headache. Then all that would be left of the old Sam was the overwhelming guilt. Vanquishing the ghost car would alleviate part of that guilt. Getting back into Dean's good graces, well, that would be a longer trip.

"Dean?" Sam called out to the empty room. His keys were still on the little table by the window, as was the laptop.

"On your bed." Dean's voice came from behind him, causing Sam to nearly jump out of his skin. He whirled around to see a smirking Dean leaning against the wall.

"What?" Sam asked breathlessly.

Dean unfolded his arms and pointed towards Sam's bed. "Breakfast. I took my mangled car and picked us up some grub."

Sam felt like he'd just won the lottery. A large cup of coffee balanced dangerously on the edge of the bed next to a white bag which could only contain doughnuts. And perhaps the most beautiful thing of all lay between the two: a bottle of aspirin.

Sam flew over and carefully grabbed the coffee. Chomping into the doughnut he moaned with pleasure. He could feel Dean's amused gaze on his back as he wolfed down the food.

"You eat as sloppily as you drive."

Sam chose to ignore him, focusing instead on the processed wonder of fried dough followed by pure caffeine.

"You're welcome." Dean said pointedly.

Sam swallowed his last mouthful before turning around. "Thanks." he said before downing three aspirin.

Sam wiped his mouth with his sleeve and gave his brother an assessing look. "How's the shoulder?"

"Still a bit stiff." Dean admitted as he rotated his shoulder. "Of course, I could be driving with no arms and one leg and I _still_ wouldn't have crashed the car."

"Oh my god, are you going to take everything I say and make it about last night?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Yes. You have a problem with that?" Dean narrowed his eyes.

"No, no problem." Sam answered with a sigh.

With that settled, Dean was ready to get back to business. "So, I've got a theory on how to deal with the Mustang."

Sam sat at attention. "Really? What'd you find out?"

Strolling over to the laptop, Dean motioned for Sam to follow. Dean sat in the lone chair while Sam looked over his shoulder. A little too closely, as it turned out.

"Dude, personal bubble." Dean hunched forward.

Sam stepped back instantly. "So…?" he prodded.

Readjusting his shoulders, Dean scrolled down the web page. "So, here's what we do know. We might be dealing with the spirit of Marc Lawler—"

"He was the kid driving the Mustang; who died in the crash." Sam interjected.

"Right." Dean nodded. "Before we came along the Mustang seemed to be just a specter, showing up once every full moon to reenact the events of the night Marc died."

"Until we showed up and screwed everything to hell." Sam said bitterly.

Dean ignored Sam's comment. "Now the car shows up at random, apparently corporeal, but still trying to recreate the crash."

"Maybe Marc's spirit has nothing to do with this. After all, we've never actually seen him. The car was driverless each time I saw it."

"Exactly what I was thinking. Although, I think we should be focusing less on who it is, and more on what it wants." Dean said.

Dean took the confused look on Sam's face as a cue to continue. "The victims all said the car headed straight for them."

"Playing chicken. We know that. That's how Marc died." Sam interrupted.

"Right. But afterwards it always vanishes. Take last night. The Mustang didn't hit you. You managed to get away, yet you said it was gone a few moments later. If it were really out to do some damage it could have easily turned around and had another go. You certainly made an easy enough target, slamming into the tree as gracefully as you did." Dean couldn't resist throwing in another verbal jab, followed by a physical one to Sam's arm.

Sam rubbed his arm, glaring at Dean. "So you're saying it's trying to complete some task; deal with unfinished business. But what? It must have played chicken with half the county by now. Plus we actually completed the cycle with it the first time we were here, remember?"

"How could I forget you recklessly driving my baby straight at that thing?" Dean shuddered as he remembered the wild look in Sam's eyes as they careened full speed at the Mustang. "In fact, I honestly don't know why I even allow you behind the wheel anymore. You're on driving embargo, my friend."

"Whatever." Sam put the conversation back on track. "Fact it, we drove right through it. We stood in for the other car. Theoretically the Mustang should have been vanquished. But we know now we were wrong." I was wrong, he added mentally.

"Except we weren't the other car." Dean said, waiting for Sam to put the pieces together.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You're saying this thing will only stop if it goes after the original car? The one from 1975?"

Dean took offense to Sam's slightly mocking tone. " Marc's body is gone; we have nothing to salt and burn. As for the Mustang, we have no way of tracking down where the leftover parts are. Near as I can tell, our only other option is to focus in on the other car. Help the Mustang complete the cycle once and for all. I don't see any other option, unless you have a brillant idea you'd like to share, College Boy."

Sam held his hands up. "Ok, ok, easy. I see your point. Were you able to find out anything about the other car?"

Dean leaned closer to the laptop. "Oh yeah. It was a 1973 Pontiac Firebird. Quite a beauty. Before the crash, I mean." he threw in hastily.

Dean had pulled up a few photos taken of the wreckage. While the Mustang was twisted and charred almost beyond recognition, the Pontiac had fared slightly better. The front end had been pushed completely in; the hood accordioned up to the shattered windshield.

"Wow." Sam shook his head in disbelief. Tearing his eyes away from the pictures, Sam scanned the accompanying article. "Does it say what happened to the car?"

"I couldn't find any information about the Firebird. Only that they had to cut a hole in the roof to get the driver out." Dean said.

"The other driver's name was George White, eighteen years old." Sam read aloud. "Do you think he's still alive?"

Dean closed the laptop. "He's still alive, all right. He's in an assisted living facility on the outskirts of town. Um, Greenfields." he said, reading the information he'd written on a piece of paper.

"Assisted living?" Sam repeated. "He's not even fifty years old!"

"He was severely injured when they pulled him from the car. He ended up being paralyzed from the neck down." Dean explained somberly.

"So we're going to go harass this poor guy?" Sam was appalled.

"Sam, we have no choice. If we don't do something fast, the next attack could kill someone." Dean pointed out bluntly.

He knew Dean was right. It didn't mean he had to like it. "Yeah, you're right." Sam yielded. "I guess we head for Greenfields."

Dean gave Sam a long once over. "You sure you're up for it?" Although some color had returned in Sam's cheeks, he still looked ready to keel over at the slightest breeze.

Sam gave a humorless laugh. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Classic Sam, taking the focus off himself and shifting it onto his brother. Dean had taught him well. Although this time there was definitely some merit to the question. Despite his full night's sleep Dean still sported raccoon-like circles under his eyes. His normally meticulously styled hair stood up in every direction. The constant massaging and rotating of his right shoulder had not gone unnoticed.

Dean looked at Sam with mock concern. "Sam, this jealousy has got to stop. I got the looks in the family, and you got the brains. No, wait. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't have smashed my car into a tree." Dean smacked his forehead dramatically. "So that's what that was all about! You finally cracked under the pressure of having such a good-looking, intelligent ladies man as a brother. I didn't know the strain of living with such perfection would be that hard on you."

Dean walked over and placed a hand gently on Sam's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it? Huh, do you, Sammy?"

Sam simply stared at Dean, who was working the innocent angle for all he was worth. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

Dean grinned at his brother's back. "Aw, don't go away mad, Sammy! Where ya going? Come on, stay and play!" he guffawed as he followed out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **The person the guys are on their way to see was originally named Joseph. After noticing there was already a Joe in the other story (oops) I changed his name to George. Sorry for the confusion. I corrected it in the previous chapter.

**The Last Mile**

The sun had completed it's ascent into the sky as the two brothers argued in front of the tiny motel. Sam was determined to go along see George White. Although no one could best Dean when it came to his prowess on the supernatural battlefield, his people skills had a lot to be desired. This situation was even stickier; they were dealing with the traumatized victim of a horrible car crash that had claimed a young man's life. Although over thirty years had passed since the incident, Sam had no doubt that the paraplegic was probably worse off mentally than he was physically. They had to go into this with kid gloves.

Dean was being just as single-minded trying to convince Sam to stay behind. Despite Sam's claims to the contrary, Dean knew this entire situation stemmed from his own actions a month ago. Dean was not one to shirk responsibility; it was his duty to see this one out. He was just going to talk to the man; it's not like he would be in any physical danger. But mainly he was worried. Sam had hit his head shortly after sustaining a concussion. He had half a mind to take him to the emergency room, just to make sure there was no real damage.

Ironically it was Dean's concern over Sam's wellbeing that caused him to relent to the younger man's wishes. He'd rather have Sam where he could keep an eye on him, make sure he was ok. After nearly fifteen minutes of back and forth, Dean begrudgingly backed off.

"Fine, Sam. You win, ok? Let's go." Dean turned on his heel and began to walk back to their motel room. He stopped after a few steps, sensing Sam was not behind him. Dean took a quick look over his shoulder.

"Sam!" he called towards the retreating figure. "Where are you going?"

"What?" Sam called back. "The car's still in back!"

"Dude, it's 6:30 in the morning." Dean walked towards his brother.

"So?" Sam yelled as he turned the corner.

Dean jogged a few steps to catch up. "_So, _visiting hours aren't until nine."

Sam finally slowed down. "Oh." After a moment he shrugged his shoulders, continuing his fast gait.

Dean threw his arms into the air in frustration. Reigning in his annoyance, he grabbed Sam's arm.

"Sam, it's 6:30 in the morning." he repeated slowly. "At best it'll only take us a half hour to get there. That leaves us two hours to do what, sit there and play rock, paper, scissors? Come on, let's head back and grab a few hours of shut eye."

Distrusting hazel eyes looked down at Dean. "Sure. I'll fall asleep and you'll sneak off, leave me behind."

Dean put his hands on his hips and stared back. Bad move, Sammy boy. "Really? You're really gonna go there?"

Aw crap. "Look, I'm just saying--"

"Saying what, Sam? That you'd never do something that sneaky and underhanded? Oh that's right, you already did!" Dean bellowed.

"Dean, I said I was sorry. What else do you want me to do?"

"You can start by getting your ass back in the motel room. Now."

Sam took in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. He'd already gone one round in the Winchester War of Words; he didn't have the energy to start round two. He knew he was being irrational. Dean was more than capable of handling things; he should just hang back and rest. Lord knows he needed it. But his need to participate was stronger.

"Fine, but I'm not going to sleep." Sam said defiantly. "Maybe I can dig up some more information on the Firebird. You are not leaving without me."

"You are such a hypocrite! What gives you the right--" Dean was so angry he could barely speak.

"You're right. I'm a selfish ass who only thinks of himself. I shouldn't have gone out there by myself; I should have woken you up. I know you're pissed that I wrecked the Impala, but what you're really mad at is that I left you behind; that you were left out of the hunt, which is exactly I'm coming along." Sam took a deep breath and continued. "Dean, this whole situation is as much my fault as anyone's. I need to see this through."

"It's one little interview, you drama queen! It's not like the ghost car will be there answering the phones." But Dean couldn't help but chuckle at Sam's outburst. Sam gave him back a tentative smile. It was so hard to stay mad at his baby brother sometimes.

"Ok, tell you what. We'll _both _grab a quick snooze, then head out. Together. All right?"

Sam was locked in an inner battle. He _was_ extremely tired. Besides, he was a light sleeper. There was no way Dean could sneak off without Sam knowing. The lure of sleep was too much to ignore. But could he really trust that Dean would keep his word? Sam chewed on his lower lip, trying to get a read on the man before him. Dean's face was a blank canvas, the open emotions so often splashed across his features carefully hidden away.

Apparently his own face wasn't quite as expressionless, for a wide grin spread slowly across Dean's lips as Sam made his decision. They both knew who the victor was in the final bout.

"Fine." Sam relented. "You win."

"Yes I do." Dean gloated. He'd take any win, no matter how small. "And if you're a good boy and go right to sleep, I promise not to draw on you with permanent marker again."

Dean laughed as he remembered the infamous prank war that had left a mortified Sam sporting a bright orange mustache on school picture day. Sam cocked his head to the side, obviously not getting the reference. That gave further testament to Sam's need for rest. Sam had stayed mad at him for two full days, vowing never to forget the incident.

"What are you talking about?" Sam questioned.

Dean lightly clapped his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Never mind, Sammy. Never mind." he said, leading the way back to the room.

Not even bothering to kick of his shoes, Sam settled his lanky body onto the bed. Dean smiled at the relieved groan that sounded as Sam closed his eyes. "You, too, Dean. Get some sleep." he mumbled.

Dean sat on the edge of his own bed, loudly squeaking the springs. "Sure thing, Sammy." he whispered.

The hard lines surrounding Dean's eyes softened as he watched his brother drift off. His little trip into the Twilight Zone had ended; their roles were once again firmly in place. Dean was back to being the protective older brother, looking out and caring for his Sammy. Dean could never stomach having to be taken care of. He'd spent his whole life watching out for those he loved. To be on the receiving end was just not natural.

Dean smirked as Sam's ninth grade yearbook picture made another appearance in his memory. Ironically it was the fourteen year old's mistreatment of the Impala that had led to that particular prank war. Dean had been incensed to discover his baby wrapped from hood to trunk in plastic wrap...layers and layers that the September sun had melted into a nearly unbreakable sheet of plastic concrete.

Nearly ten years later Sam had committed yet another sin against the Impala. Although the incident on Blue Corner's Road was unintentional, the deception that led to the horrible outcome wasn't. Feeling like a villain from the old black and white movies, Dean rubbed his hands together, plotting his revenge.

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The first thing Sam became aware of was the falsetto voice of his brother urging him awake.

"Come on, Sammy. Wakey-wakey."

Sam closed his eyes as tight as possible. Maybe if he wished real hard the annoying voice would disappear. Being an only child for a while would be kind of nice. But the taunting voice continued.

"Come on, Yosemite Sam. Time to get up." Dean said in his normal voice.

Yosemite Sam? Dean hadn't called him that since...

Sam's eyes snapped open as he flashed back to the large orange moustache he'd unwillingly sported for two days as a freshman. His eyes darted around until they settled their target.

"You didn't." Sam said, his voice thick with sleep.

"What?" Dean's mouth twitched as he struggled to keep his laughter in.

Sam sat up, one hand grabbing the edge of the bed for support while the other reached for his face. He flinched as his fingertips landed in something soft. He stared at the white foam on his fingers, comprehension slowing dawning.

"Shaving cream? Are you serious?

"I'm sorry, Sammy! Would you have preferred the marker?" Dean snickered.

Sam carefully rose to his feet, his clean hand grabbing the bedpost while his legs decided if they would hold him. "I would have preferred having an adult for a brother."

"And I would prefer having a brother who didn't sneak out and trash my car. We don't always get what we want, Stay Puft." Dean replied breezily.

The death glare Sam was sending Dean's way was undermined by the fluffy white beard that stretched from one ear to the other. The area where Sam had touched it poked up like the cream on a lemon meringue pie. Dean reached over and patted down the little peaks.

"Santa Claus is too obvious, don't you think? What do you think, maybe Uncle Jesse? Uncle Sammy?" Dean snapped his fingers. "Uncle Sam!" he exclaimed gleefully.

Sam smacked Dean's hand away. "You are such an ass." he said as he walked towards the bathroom.

Dean noticed Sam's legs weren't exactly steady, but chose not to comment. He leaned next to the bathroom door, raising his voice to be heard over the running water.

"So, I'm thinking we should do the relative route." he said, referring to their upcoming visit.

"What if they buzz him, tell him that we're here? We'll get busted." Sam shouted back.

"Good point. Reporters? Doing a story on the crash for our college newspaper?"

The door opened up, and Dean took a step back as the younger man emerged. Other than the little rivulets of water that ran from the tips of his hair, Sam's face was as bare as the day he was born.

Dean cocked his heading critically. "I don't know, Gandalf. I kinda liked you with the beard."

Sam glowered down at Dean before brushing past him. "Are we going or not?"

Dean pointed to the still visible lump on Sam's head. "You good?"

Sam countered with his own question. "Are you?" he asked, motioning towards Dean's shoulder.

"Lead the way, Grizzly Adams."

"Grizzly Adams didn't have a white beard."

"Yeah, well, you stole my car."

"What? That didn't even make sense!" Sam cried out.

"Come on. You've wasted enough time messing around with your face. Let's go, Uncle Sam. I want you!" Dean adopted a stern face and pointed his finger at Sam, imitating the famous historical picture.

Sam sighed as he followed a gloating Dean out of the motel room. It was going to another long day.

**Author's Note (again):** Ok, so the guys are really on their way this time! This was kind of a pointless chapter, but I felt like having a little fun before getting back to the whole haunted car thing.

Also, again I send my heartfelt thanks to everyone following along, and especially to the wonderful folks who leave reviews. I apologize for not thanking everyone personally, but I tend to turn into a complete dork when I attempt to write a response. I'm trying to get over that. LOL Thanks again!


	10. Chapter 10

The clouds that had blanketed the night sky had disappeared, leaving the morning sun to shine down on the dusty black Impala as it cruised through the little town. Dean struggled to keep the dented car below thirty; any faster and she would try to sneak over to the edge of the road, as if embarrassed to be seen in her current condition. Dean spoke words of encouragement whenever he felt the wheel begin to move under his hands. Sam kept shooting odd looks at his brother, but wisely kept his mouth shut. He was just happy Dean had let him in the car at all. The older man loved to point out that one could fit a body in the trunk of the classic car. Sam had been certain this was the day Dean would prove his theory.

Sam tucked the map back into the glove compartment. "Turn left at the next light. I think it'll be on the left."

Dean nodded, glancing over at Sam. Frowning, he did a double take, his gaze lingering a little too long for Sam's liking.

"You want to keep your eyes on the road, please?" Sam said, slightly irritated.

"Yeah, wouldn't want to crash into a tree, would we?" Dean said, straight-faced.

Sam groaned. He didn't know how much longer he could endure the endless stream of snide remarks. But at least Dean had turned his focus back to the road.

Dean slowed to a stop at the red light. His green eyes settled on Sam again. Sam fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny. Finally, he could take it no longer.

Sam whipped his head to the side. "What?!"

Dean made no reaction to the abrupt outcry, he simply continued staring. Just when Sam thought his brother had taken a little side trip to Catatonia Island, Dean broke his silence.

"You might want to cover up that goose egg. We don't want to raise any suspicions, or bring anymore attention to ourselves." Dean said seriously.

Sam self-consciously worked his hair to hide the lump near his temple. "Oh, and that gash on your forehead just screams Nerdy Newspaper Boy." Sam said mockingly as he continued to mess with his unruly bangs.

Dean had forgotten about the cut he'd received during their battle with the skin walker. Both men leaned toward the middle of the car, vying for the rearview mirror. The Winchesters were too busy with their reflections to notice that the light had turned green. A loud horn sounded from behind the Chevy, eliciting a gasp from Dean and a yelp from Sam, whose hand swished through his hair.

Dean sent the other driver the one-fingered salute before executing a wobbly left turn. "Bite my ass, I'm going!" he shouted.

"Nice going, Ace." Sam laughed shakily.

"Aw, shut up." Dean muttered. "Keep your eyes peeled for Greenfields." Dean glanced over at Sam, raising an amused eyebrow. "Alfalfa."

Sam scowled as he patted down the lock of hair that resulted from his extreme reaction to the car horn.

Sam was saved from further ridicule by the presence of a large white brick building looming on the left. The parking lot was surprisingly full; Dean finally found a spot far away from the door. He gave his reflection one more disapproving glance before getting out of the car. There was nothing he could do to hide the ugly mark. At least Sam was able to manipulate his dark mop to cover his unsightly bump.

"You want me to do the talking?" Sam said under his breath as they ambled through the double doors. He took in the beige walls and fake green plants that pointed the way from the vestibule to the main desk.

"I got this one." Dean said, grinning devilishly. A beautiful blonde woman sat at the reception desk, her blue eyes flashed warmly at the two newcomers. Finally something was going his way.

Dean sauntered up to the front desk, pulling his jacket slightly open. His green button down shirt brought out his mossy green eyes, which landed like a hawk on the young woman.

"Can I help you?" The blonde said brightly.

"I'm sure that you can." Dean winked charmingly.

Sam turned around so the young lady wouldn't see him rolling his eyes. It looked like yet another fawn was about to enter the lion's den.

The two were engaged in a quiet conversation. Sam strained to hear, but couldn't quite make out the words. The woman made a few sympathetic noises and reached her hand towards Dean, who caught it and gave it a smooth kiss. Occasionally a giggle could be heard, usually followed by Dean's soft chuckle. Sam waited a few more minutes, then loudly cleared his throat. After a few more flirtatious exchanges, Dean finally stepped back.

"Thanks, Michelle. I'll see you on the way out." Dean flashed one last smile, pocketing the piece of paper she'd slipped him.

Sam followed Dean down the pale corridor. "Well?" he prompted.

"Oh yeah. Got her number. I told her I got this little beauty fighting off a mugger." Dean said proudly, pointing to his head.

Sam inwardly groaned. He'd left himself wide open for that one. Sam kept his voice neutral, not wanting to give Dean the satisfaction of hearing his exasperation.

"I meant, what room is he in?" Sam asked.

"182. Right down this hallway."

Coming up to the door, Sam rapped lightly. "Mr. White?"

No answer. Sam and Dean exchanged uncertain glances. With a shrug of his good shoulder, Dean rapped harder. "Mr. White?"

"I said, 'Come on in already!'" came a gruff voice from behind the door. "What are ya, deaf?"

Dean looked at Sam in surprise. The younger man's eyes were wide open, a hint of amusement sparkling as he pushed open the door.

They were not prepared for what lay before their eyes. Unlike the drab khaki-colored walls of the hallway, the room was painted in a bright greenish/blue. Pictures of classic cars covered the walls, most with bikini-clad women draped over the hoods. The simply furnished room featured an unmade bed in the corner, and a desk near the door. A woman with unnaturally red hair pouted at them from the calendar above the computer.

"Oh my god." Sam couldn't help saying, slightly horrified.

"You're telling me!" Dean said as he gazed around the room, awestruck. Sam blinked at his brother. Where Sam saw a gaudy, tasteless room, Dean saw a beautiful masterpiece.

"You boys gonna stand there gawkin' all day, or are you gonna tell me what the hell you want?"

The slight whirring of a motor announced the wheelchair's presence slightly before it rolled out from behind the door. In it sat a thin man wearing a blue shirt slightly darker than the walls. Distrustful brown eyes stared out from under long salt and pepper hair. His hands rested atop his sweatpants as he looked from one brother to the other.

"Um, hello, Mr. White? I'm Sam...this is Dean." Sam gave what he hoped was a disarming smile.

Dean gave a distracted nod. He walked over to get a closer look at a framed 5x7. "1956 Cadillac. Nice. Oo, is that a 1958 Racer?" he asked eagerly, moving on to the next picture.

"I see you have an eye for cars." Mr. White said.

Dean finally was able to tear himself away from the pictures. "There are three things in life a man should never take for granted. A cold beer, a hot girl, and an even hotter car."

The corners of Mr. White's mouth twitched under the gray whiskers. Dean could see he was beginning to win over the man. Time to go for the home run. "I've got a 1967 Impala. Black. She's a real beauty."

Mr. White nodded approvingly. "That tells me you have good taste in cars. It still don't tell me what you're doing here."

Sam took a step forward so he was next to Dean. "Mr. White, we're writing an article for our college newspaper about the car crash out on Blue Corner's road in 1975. I know it's a painful subject, but we were hoping to get your side of the story."

"Ain't no other side to be heard. The other guy died." The wheelchair-bound man said bluntly.

Sam shifted uncomfortably under Mr. White's intense gaze. This was not going well. Sam glanced at Dean, silently begging him for assistance. But Dean had moved back to the wall, taking an extreme interest in the pictures.

"I'm sorry. I, uh, I didn't mean to imply…" Sam broke off as a throaty noise bubbled up from the old man. It took Sam a minute to realize he was being laughed at.

Mr. White's stone face cracked into a smile. "I'm just messin' with ya, kid. And call me George." he said, sticking his right arm out.

Sam just stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the outstretched hand.

"Where I come from, one usually shakes the hand that's been offered to him." George's voice snapped Sam out of his stupor. Leaping forward he grasped the hand, impressed by the strength behind it. Sam nudged Dean with his elbow, feeling slightly better as he watched his brother go through the same routine.

"But I thought…I read you were paralyzed from the neck down." Dean said dazedly as he shook George's hand.

George crossed his arms. "Chest down. I have use of my arms, but only have about 60 percent mobility in my left hand and 90 percent in my right. Bein' reporters, you should know better than to believe everythin' you read."

Unsure of how to respond the Winchesters just stood there, each hoping the other would step in to smooth things over. Their silence only seemed to raise George's trepidation.

George narrowed his eyes at them. "Ya got any ID?"

Wordlessly Sam pulled out his Stanford Student ID card and handed it over. One of the few links left over from his attempt at a normal life, the little card also came in very handy in situations like this.

George looked at it critically. "You came all the way out here for a story?"

"We have family in town. Cousins. They told us about the crash. You're a bit of a local legend." Dean said smoothly.

George snorted. "Aren't you a world-class suck up. Yeah, nothing like barely survivin' a head on crash to gain a guy some notoriety."

George gave another bitter laugh and handed the card back. Expertly maneuvering around Sam, he wheeled over to the mini fridge that sat on the floor. Grabbing a beer for himself, he tossed two bottles to the brothers. "What the hell. I ain't got nothin' to do today, and you seem like decent boys. Fine, have a seat."

Looking around at the chairless room, Sam awkwardly settled himself onto the worn carpet. Dean rolled his eyes, but also sat down.

"I feel like I'm in friggin' kindergarten. What is this, story time?" Dean whispered to Sam, who coughed a laugh into his hand.

George took a long swig from the bottle, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "So, what is it you want to know?"

"What exactly happened that night? The night of the crash?" Sam asked.

"Me and Marc weren't exactly the best of friends." George began, referring to the driver of the now infamous Mustang. "We'd gotten into our share of fights, usually 'bout stupid crap. You know, who's car was better, who's girl was hotter. Nothin' real big.

"One day, me and the boys were out near the lake shootin' the breeze and havin' a little fun with the ladies. Marc and his buddies showed up and started messin' with us, harassin' the girls. Before you know it, fists are flyin'. The girls stepped in to try and calm us down. Next thing I knew, May... Marc's girl...was on the ground, blood just gushin' from her nose."

"I honestly don't know how it happened, but it sent Marc into a rage. I'd never seen him like that. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and started comin' after me. One of my buddies gave me his knife. I'm tellin' ya, it was just like in the movies. The girls were screamin' and cryin' while me and Marc circled each other. My best buddy stepped in between us, tryin' to talk us down." George broke off with a rueful laugh as he downed the rest of the bottle.

"Man, he was freakin' out almost as much as the girls were; babbling on about better ways to solve things. He came up with the idea to race."

"Race?" Dean broke in.

"That's how it all started. Just a simple race; winner gets pinks. So we all drove out to Blue Corner's Road. Only once we got there, Marc wanted to raise the stakes. He challenged me to a game of chicken. And me being the stupid, prideful bastard that I was, I went along with it."

He broke off with a sigh; his voice grew soft as he continued. "And I guess you know the rest. We drove straight at each other, our damn pride not lettin' us pull away. I remember seein' his face just before we crashed. God, he looked so scared."

George's voice cracked, and he swallowed a few times before continuing. "Next thing I knew they was pullin' me from my car and Marc was gone."

George seemed to shake himself as he returned to the present. "So there you have it. The End. Happily ever after. Hasta La Vista."

Dean and Sam sat in stunned silence, trying to find the right words to fill the awkward silence. Finally Sam offered up the best he had. "I'm so sorry."

George wheeled over to the fridge and grabbed another beer, downing half of it in one fell swoop. "Yeah, well, that was thirty years ago. I lived, he died. Life goes on."

Dean looked over at Sam, posing a silent question. How much sympathetic small talk was necessary before they asked about George's Firebird? Sam flashed Dean his patented, _Dude, shut up!_ look. Dean had a tendency to rush forward, often choosing the dangerous path to get to the finish line faster. Reliving horrible memories makes emotions run high; they had to chose their words very carefully from here on out.

Dean recognized the look, but went ahead anyway. "So, um, what happened to the car?"

Sam closed his eyes, weary frustration descending upon him. Subtle, Dean. Real subtle.

George wiped away a bit of moisture from his eyes. "What?"

"Dean, maybe we should…" Sam began.

Dean spoke over his brother. "The Firebird you were driving. What happened to it?"

The distrusting look reappeared as George hunched his shoulders down towards his visitors. "The Firebird? What does that have to do with your story?"

"Easy there." Dean said soothingly. "I'm just curious."

"What exactly is the topic of your little tale, anyhow?"

"It's a human interest story." "Changing lives." Sam and Dean's words overlapped as both men spoke at once.

"A human interest story on how one night can change lives forever." Sam tried backpedaling, his heart beating in time with his pounding head.

"Really." George wheeled closer to Sam, causing him to scoot back a few inches. "I would think a big time college newspaper would be more interested in current events than one small accident that happened thirty years ago."

"It'll be in the local history section. We're hoping it will resonate with young adults, maybe get people to think about the consequences of their actions." Sam scrambled to find the right words to fix the situation. Damn Dean and his impatience, he just had to push forward. Now George had pulled up the drawbridge, leaving them floundering in the moat.

George finished his beer and set the empty bottle on top of the fridge. "How about we make things a little more fair. I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

George wheeled over to the door and shut it, setting the lock with the twist of his wrist. Sam and Dean felt paralyzed by the cold smile George gave them as he turned back around. But what really turned their blood to ice was the small pistol aimed down at them. "Starting with who you really are, and what the hell you want. Now."


	11. Chapter 11

"Whoa. Easy there, George. There's no need for that." Dean held a calming hand towards George. Next to him Sam was slowly getting to his feet.

"George, just calm down. We're just college kids doing a story. We aren't here to cause you any trouble." Sam raised himself to his full height, wobbling a bit as the room spun for a moment. George had let him up, but was keeping the gun carefully trained on him.

"I ain't buying it. Try again."

Sam found it hard to think through the pounding in his head. His headache had been steadily getting worse. Having a gun pointed at him certainly wasn't helping. He didn't think they were in an immediate danger; George wouldn't risk shooting them inside the tiny enclosed room with numerous staff undoubtedly nearby. Sam couldn't help but wonder how he'd even managed to get a gun inside an assisted living facility. But that wasn't his concern right now. He had to figure out a way to disarm him, and still get the information they needed. Sam chewed on his lip as he weighed his options. He didn't like it, but he was going to have to lay it all on the line.

"Fine. Here's the truth." Sam started.

"Sam." Dean also got to his feet.

Sam ignored him, focusing on the man before him. "You're right. We're not doing a story on the crash. Hell, we aren't even students."

"Sam!" Dean hissed. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He grabbed his brother's arm, but Sam wrenched free and took a step forward. George raised the gun slightly but made no other move.

"The Mustang…Marc's Mustang is haunting Blue Corner's Road." Dean winced as Sam spoke the words. He held his breath to see how George would react.

To Dean's surprise George merely laughed. "Oh please! That's just an old wives tale someone made up to scare the kiddies."

Sam shook his head vehemently, swaying again as his balance faltered. Dean's hand appeared on his elbow, this time providing him both physical and emotional support. Taking a deep breath Sam continued. "You're wrong. For years it's been showing up on every full moon. But over the past month it's gone after seven different cars, seriously injuring several people."

George gave another laugh, although doubt was beginning to show in his eyes. "Oh please. How do you know it's not just some psycho driving an old car? You boys are crazy."

"Right. Someone just happened to find the same kind of car Marc drove and is using it to terrorize the locals. Come on, man, don't be..." Dean swallowed the rest of his sentence. Calling the man holding a gun "Stupid" would probably be a bad move.

"There is an old woman in a coma, fighting for her life after she and her husband were attacked by the Mustang. You try telling her husband that he's crazy as he holds her hand, begging for her to wake up." Sam said heatedly, his cheeks flushed.

Dean jumped in to deliver the second punch. "You can believe us or not. Frankly, I don't give a rat's ass. But we need to know what happened to your car so we can get rid of this son of a bitch. We have no way of knowing when it'll show next. If someone dies, the blood will be on your hands."

The words hung in the air as Sam and Dean watched George's reaction. They had edged their way closer to the armed man, and now were just a few feet away. Hopefully he would believe them and lower the gun. If not, at least they were close enough to make a move for it.

"Dammit." George said softly. Taking in a shaky breath he ran his hand across his forehead. "Well, this sure sucks."

"You believe us?" Sam asked timidly, as if just asking the question might tip the scale in the wrong direction.

"Truth is, I've been followin' the story all along. I never put much truth to the rumors until the accidents started happenin'. I kept tryin' to tell myself there ain't no such things as ghosts, let alone friggin' ghost cars! Whoever heard of such a ridiculous thing! But I guess there ain't no denyin' the truth any longer." George said sadly.

"Well good. Now that we're all friends again, how about getting that gun out of our faces?" Dean asked, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. Sam shot him a look, to which Dean simply shrugged his shoulders.

George looked at his hand as if he'd forgotten he even had the gun. "This thing? Come on, it ain't real! You think the prissy folks that run this place'd let me have a gun in here? Ha!" As if to prove his point, he carelessly tossed the toy gun onto the floor.

Dean felt like he'd been kicked in the head. "Are you freakin' kidding me? A toy gun?" As he stared at the offending object, he was stunned by his carelessness. The shocked look on Sam's face said he too had missed the obvious. It brought Dean little comfort. He could feel the rage building even as Sam's calming hand grabbed his arm.

"We have an idea on how to make things right, but we need to know what happened to your car after the crash." Sam spoke in soothing tones meant to calm not only George, but Dean as well. Dean ripped his arm from Sam's grasp but remained silent.

"My car." George said distractedly. "Wait, did you actually see the ghost car? I mean, how can you be sure it's really the same Mustang?"

Sam pushed his hand through his hair, exposing his painful souvenir from the night. "I got this after it ran me off the road. I'm sure."

"But it's not Marc's spirit. It's just the Mustang. Is that what you're saying?" George spoke slowly, trying to fit the pieces where they belonged.

George's statement sent off alarm bells in Sam's head, but the jackhammers trying to drill through his skull quickly drowned them out. Something wasn't quite right about the haunting, but now was not the time to analyze it. His mission was to find out the location of the Firebird, then reward himself with some aspirin. "The Mustang seems to be replaying the game of chicken. We think that by using your Firebird to complete the reenactment, it might be enough to send it driving off into the sunset for good."

"Or in this case, 'sunrise'." Dean corrected with a small smile.

"Might be a problem there, boys. The car's gone."

Aw, hell. "By 'gone', you mean sitting in a nearby garage in perfect condition?" Dean asked, trying to be optimistic.

"I mean we scrapped her. She was twisted and ripped to shreds. There was no savin' her. First thing I did after they let me outta the hospital was to head out to the Yard. It took some maneuverin', but they let me work the machines to put her out of her misery. Seemed only fittin'." George said sadly.

Sam was having a hard time wrapping his mind around what George was saying. "So it's gone. As in, crushed?"

"Crushed." George said simply.

Dean stormed over and leaned his arm on the cluttered wall, curse words filling the room. A leggy raven-haired beauty stared at him from inside a picture, smiling seductively. Dean closed his eyes, resisting the urge to pull it off the wall and smash it. The Firebird, their one chance at defeating the ghost car, was gone.

"What about inside the car? Did you have anything inside that might have survived? The radio, the steering wheel…anything?" Sam pleaded.

"Nothin'."

Sam's physical exhaustion began to creep up on him again, and he followed his sinking spirits down to the floor. Lowering himself to his knees, Sam tried to think through the pounding in his head. There had to be another solution. They just had to find it.

"Except the hood ornament." George said.

Dean's head shot out from the crook of his arm. "What did you say?"

"The hood ornament. I damn near forgot. My brother found it on the side of the road a few days after."

Dean whirled around. George kept talking, more to himself than to the brothers. "Thing of beauty. A jagged bolt of lightenin'. Custom made. Near as we could figure, it musta popped off in the collision."

"Where is it now? Do you still have it?" Dean asked excitedly. Could it be they had caught a break?

"Not exactly."

Sam groaned from his spot on the floor, his head in his hands. Dean kept his gaze on his brother, but directed his words to George. "You care to elaborate?"

"I couldn't part with the thing, but keepin' it around was too painful. It reminded me of how much I'd lost; my car, my legs, a normal life." George broke off and swallowed hard. "Marc's life."

Dean was only half listening. Sam had gone off of his knees and now sat cross-legged on the floor, his head still buried in his hands.

"Sam?"

"So your brother has the hood ornament?" Sam finally joined the conversation but kept his head down, his voice muffled. Dean tried to push back his concern. A few more minutes and he could get his weary brother back to the motel. Time to wrap things up.

"We need to get a hold of him right away." Dean said.

George nodded. "I'll get you his number. But you'll want to talk to his son, Sean. His dad and I gave him the hood ornament on his sixteenth birthday. He's got it now."

While George searched for paper to jot down the information, Dean knelt in front of his brother. "Hey, Sam. You with me?

"Yeah."

"I tried to tell you back when you were two, Sammy. This peek-a-boo thing is one sided. You can try to hide, but I can still see you."

"I'm not hiding, jackass." Sam lifted his head, but wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

George wheeled over and handed Dean a paper that contained the directions to his relatives' house. "You ain't looking too good, kiddo. You want me to buzz a nurse?" George asked.

Sam started to shake his head, not quite hiding a grimace. "I'm good." Holding his breath, he rose unsteadily to his feet.

George looked at Dean, who shrugged his shoulder as if to say, _What can you do?_ Extending his arm, he shook George's hand firmly. "Thanks for the help."

"You boys let me know what happens. And be careful." George stressed as he shook Sam's hand. Sam gave a weak smile in return, happy they got what they needed, but relieved at the prospect of resting his aggrieved body inside of the equally battered Impala.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean lightly clapped Sam on the shoulder as they let themselves out. It hadn't been a total bust. The Firebird had been a dead end, but they had a lead on the hood ornament. Hopefully that would be enough.

**Author's Note:** Ah, the joys of exposition. I apologize if anyone fell asleep during the last couple chapters, but the tale has to be told at some point.

I hope to stick to my four/five day posting schedule, but due to the craziness of life and a small annoying case of writer's block, it may be slightly longer until the next chapter. But once again, let me say a warm "Thank you!" to the readers and reviewers. At the risk of sounding like a politican, the support means a lot.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** This chapter has not been proofed, so kindly excuse any typos or errors that may exist. The next chapter'll be up as soon as I write it, hopefully in the standard 4/5 days. Thanks!

**The Last Mile**

Despite finally receiving a break in their little car conundrum, Dean found himself in a foul mood. Sam had taken a turn for the worse; the bump on his head apparently a little worse than they'd originally thought. The unsteady man had gotten in touch with his inner pinball, lurching into a wall before ricocheting into a plant on their way to the lobby.

"While we're here, why don't we have one of the doctors take a look at you?" Dean said as he righted the fallen plant.

Sam leaned against the wall, not trusting his ailing body. His experiment with walking didn't turn out so well; walking and talking was sure to be a disaster. "What good'll that do? It's not like they have a pill that can cure concussions."

"You should've stayed at the motel. You need to rest, Sam."

"And we need to get rid of the ghost car, Dean."

"God, it's like talking to a brick wall!" Dean fumed. He had been trained to be a hunter, but before that, he was born to be a brother. A big brother, whose duty it was to protect his little brother. Although as usual Sam was being a stubborn, bullheaded ass, making Dean's job nearly impossible.

A verbal response required too much energy, so Sam let his middle finger do the talking. An odd combination of a sigh and a growl came out of Dean as he pulled Sam away from the wall.

"Come on." Dean said as he slipped his arm around Sam's waist.

"I wonder what your new friend will think watching the two of us walk out of here with our arms around each other?" Sam said slyly.

That thought froze Dean in his tracks. "Good point. You're on your own." he kidded. Dean stepped back, but still kept near enough that he could grab Sam should he stumble. They slowly made their way past the front desk, Dean's watchful eyes leaving Sam only long enough to send a farewell wink to the receptionist.

Sam seemed slightly better once he was inside the Impala. The classic car did seem to have a healing effect; at least it always had to Dean.

"George turned out to be a pretty cool guy." Dean commented. Sam didn't respond as he hunkered lower in the seat.

Dean frowned. Something was nagging in the back of his mind, but he couldn't focus on that right now. Sam was unusually quiet, and it was pushing his worry into overdrive.

"Of course, once we got past the whole gun-in-our-faces thing. I can't believe you didn't know that wasn't a real gun." he accused Sam, trying to draw him into a conversation.

Sam sat slumped in the passenger seat, his head rested against the soft leather. "I'm coming off a head injury. What's your excuse?" he answered fuzzily.

"I've got a bad case of T.I.T.S."

Sam's eyes flew open, and he turned to face his grinning brother. "Excuse me?"

"T.I.T.S. _Trashed Impala Traumatic Syndrome_." Dean explained semi-seriously.

"Trashed Impala…are you kidding me?" Dean's grin was contagious, and Sam smiled despite himself.

"It could stand for _Trashed Impala, Trashed Sam Syndrome_, but that would make it T.I.T.S.S., and I'd sound like I had a lisp." Dean cracked.

"You are so odd."

Sitting up, Sam finally noticed where they were. "Are we going back to the motel?"

"Uh huh. It's actually on the way to George's brother's house. Besides, there's some stuff that's bugging me about this whole deal. I want to do a bit more checking, maybe give Caleb a call and get his input."

Sam knew Dean's real motive for going back to the motel. Sam needed to rest, and they both knew it, although at this point Sam was also willing to research the possibility of a brain transplant. His head hurt so badly he wanted to smash it against a wall. Pretending he felt all right was taking up too much energy. Sam moaned and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "God, my head hurts."

Dean reached over to offer whatever meager comfort he could, stopping part way as a sharp pain sliced through his shoulder. "Dammit." he hissed. He gave a bitter laugh. "We make quite a pair." he said, briefly taking his other hand off the wheel to massage his shoulder. He paused, trying to decide whether he should put forth the pointless question. "Sam, are you sure you don't want--"

Sam interrupted just as Dean knew he would. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."

Dean shook his head. "Little brothers. Life's eternal punishment."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, with the exception of the occasional cuss word. The Impala managed to hit every pot hole on the road, despite Dean's struggle to keep her away. Every jolt rattled Dean's sore shoulder; he could only imagine how Sam must feel. Sam's eyes were screwed shut, painfilled lines etching from the corners like cracks in dry soil.

"Sorry." Dean muttered as the car bounced into another rut. The sign for the motel came into view. "Almost there."

In his hurry to get his wounded brother back into the safety of the motel, Dean misjudged the turn. The back tire went up onto the curb, landing on the blacktop a split second later with a thud. Dean winced as Sam swore under his breath.

"Hey, don't blame me. I think she's still pissed about last night." Dean said, trying to make light of the bumpy ride home.

"Dean, it's a car. _It_ can't get pissed."

"Whatever. Come on, we're here."

Sam opened his eyes, working up the energy to reach over and open the door. His headache had increased tenfold since he woke up from his quick nap. Had that really only been an hour ago? Weren't headaches supposed to get better, not worse? Leave it to him to do things backwards.

Sam managed to push the door open, using it as a crutch to pull himself to his feet. The world went briefly grey. He watched, morbidly fascinated as Dean's face swam into view, his colorless eyes regaining their brilliant green as color returned to the world.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm coming." Sam said lethargically. Filling his lungs, he held his breath as he began the seemingly endless trek into their room.

Sam laid on the bed, the thin pillow providing little comfort for his aching head. "Tell Caleb I said hi."

Dean stared down at his little brother, mentally kicking himself. He should have trusted his instincts and forced Sam to stay behind. Sam's health seemed to have taken a mighty leap backwards.

"Sam, you look like crap." Dean said, his voice husky with concern.

"Feel like it, too." Sam mumbled. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Dean chewed on his lower lip, weighing his options. He placed a hand on Sam's forehead, somewhat relieved at the absence of a fever. He then gently pulled open one of Sam's eyes, eliciting a moan and a weak whack from the prone man.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Just give me a few minutes, ok?" Sam said in a slightly agitated voice. To prove his point, he opened his eyes and gave a wretched parody of a smile.

Dean shook his head fondly. "You're a royal pain in my ass, you know that?"

Already half asleep, Sam's middle finger made one final showing as he allowed himself to fully drift off.

After what seemed like only minutes, Sam was awakened by incessant ringing of Dean's cell phone. Forcing his heavy eyelids open he looked over to where his brother his brother lay, groggily talking into the phone.

"Mmmhhmm. Thanks Caleb. Yeah, bye."

Dean sat up and stretched, noting with great satisfaction that he was able to bring his right arm all the way up while keeping the pain to a bearable level.

"I wonder if this is what it feels like to get old. I'll have to ask Dad the next time I see him." Dean flashed a grin over at Sam, who just stared back expressionlessly.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Or not."

Dean got up and opened the curtains, letting the mid afternoon sun brighten the dull room. He could feel Sam's eyes silently following his every move. Forcing a smile back onto his face, he turned around and leaned casually against the wall.

"So, how do you feel?"

Dean's question was met with another blank stare. Dean began to get worried.

"You just gonna stare at me all day?" Dean tried to sound nonchalant. Still nothing. Dean raced over and crouched between the two beds.

"Sam. Sam, for Pete's sake, say something!" Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, a real sense of panic setting in.

A slow grin spread across Sam's face, bringing out his dimples. "Morning, Sunshine."

Sam's eyes twinkled mischievously as he watched Dean's mouth drop open. Resembling a fish out of water, Dean's mouth continued to alternate between open and shut.

Sam's grin grew wider. "Dean, for Pete's sake, say something!" he mimicked his brother with a laugh.

Dean stood up, looking torn between laughing with Sam or slugging him. He chose the latter, backhanding Sam on the arm before sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Jackass."

Sam gave another laugh before slowly pushing himself up against the headboard. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

Dean's face softened. "How do you feel?"

Sam considered the question. His head no longer felt like the slightest movement would cause it to implode. He could live with the dull ache that still lingered behind his eyes. The real test would be standing up.

Sam swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Dean followed suit, his steady hand ready to catch Sam should he falter. When the dizziness and lightheadedness he'd been feeling failed to make their appearances, Sam gave a sigh of relief.

"I'm good." Sam said truthfully.

Dean took a moment to judge for himself. Although still a little too pale for his liking, Dean gave him a passing grade. "Yeah, I think you are."

Sam remembered the sound that had woken him up. "What'd Caleb want?"

"I asked him to give me a ring so I could grab a quick snooze."

"Why didn't you just set the alarm? What, were you afraid I'd wake up first and sneak off again?" Sam kidded.

Dean's silence spoke volumes.

"Dude, will you let it go already!?" Sam blurted out. Dean was like a dog with a bone; if Dean didn't bury it soon, Sam would be forced to beat him with it.

Dean grinned savagely. "Not a chance."

Sam walked around the motel room, working the kinks out of his neck. "So, what'd Caleb say about the ghost car?"

"Well, I told him the situation. He agreed that the hood ornament is our best course of action." Dean took a breath as if to continue, then abruptly turned around.

"And…?" Sam prompted. He could tell Dean was holding something back.

"I think we were wrong about the car."

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. "The Firebird?"

Dean turned back around and leaned against the small dresser. "The Mustang. I think maybe we are dealing with Marc's spirit after all."

"I thought we'd decided it was some sort of recurring haunting; the car trying to complete the cycle of what happened thirty years ago?" They'd pretty much put the whole spirit idea to rest once they'd found out Marc's body had burned in the car fire.

"Right. Which made sense at first. But it doesn't explain the randomness of the attacks. A recurring haunting is very structured." Dean said as he moved over to the table by the window.

Sam rolled his eyes. Now that he'd gotten over feeling like a human tilt-a-whirl, apparently Dean was turning him into a human record player. Rolling his eyes, he launched into his hundredth replay of the facts. "Dean, we know what caused the attacks. It was me playing chicken with the Mustang. By completing the scenario with the wrong car, it somehow freed the Mustang from the constraints of the full moon."

Dean kept nodding his head during Sam's speech, impatiently waiting for him to finish. "Right. But why did it wait a full week and a half before going after the first car? And look at the other attacks. The second car on Thursday a little after midnight. The car the next night around 4am. One on Saturday at 1am, then nothing until Monday. Two cars were hit on Thursday...one a little after 10pm, and the other about 1:30am."

"The old woman and her husband were hit four days ago." Sam finished, inwardly wincing at all of the innocent people who had been injured on account of his meddling. He pushed away the guilt, refusing to be distracted from what Dean was saying.

"Right." Dean confirmed. "No pattern. So if the times of the attacks aren't relevant, maybe the identities of the victims are."

Sam held up a hand, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Wait. Are you saying you never bothered to check the victim's identities until now?"

Dean stared woodenly at Sam, his voice monotone. "Hmmm. And when would I have had time to do that, Sam? Would that have been when you were out using yourself as bait in the middle of the night?"

"I wasn't--"

Dean continued on, his voice becoming a bit more animated. "Oh, that's right. I couldn't have because I was asleep. Although I did set the alarm on my cell phone." Dean tapped his chin with his finger as if deep in thought. "And why didn't my alarm go off? Oh yeah, you turned it off!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

Sam sat back on the bed with a sigh. He recognized this latest rant as the final stage of the Dean Winchester Grudge-a-thon. Sam had managed to get through Angry Dean's opening routine, which was followed by an endless performance by Sarcastic Prankster Dean. Now he just had to wait for the freakish hybrid of the two, Irate Sardonic Dean, to close the show with his final act. Leaning back against the wall, he folded his arms and waited patiently for Dean to finish.

"…not to mention having a freakin' toy gun pointed at me, which I would've noticed if I hadn't been too busy making sure you weren't going to keel over on me. So no, Sam, I didn't exactly have the opportunity to do the research that _you_ said you'd do while I was sleeping. Which, as I just said, is when you double-crossed me!" Dean's face was flushed, his eyes blazing hotly as he shouted at his brother.

Sam stared at Dean, a slightly amused look on his face. His eyebrows had disappeared underneath his thick bangs while the corner of his mouth twitched it's way into a small smile. "Are you finished?"

Dean let out a deep breath while seeming to consider the question. After a quick moment he gave an abrupt nod. "Yup. I'm good." Dean flashed Sam a smile. Smoothly righting the chair he'd tipped over during his rant, Dean sat down and continued on with the story as if nothing happened.

Sam shook his head in amazement. His brother had more personalities than Sybil. It was too bad Dean hadn't been the one to talk with Dr. Ellicott back in Illinois. The good doc would've had a field day dealing with Dean's special brand of crazy.

"So it took a while, but all of the victims had one thing in common. They were all there on the night Marc died." Dean said, scrolling down the list of names on the laptop.

"Oh, come on." Sam scoffed. "You can't be serious." What were the chances that not only did everyone still live in town, but they all happened upon Blue Corner's Road late at night in the last month?

Dean seemed to read Sam's mind. "It's a small town, dude. People grow up in a place like this, most don't leave. And Blue Corner's Road isn't all that secluded. It's only a few miles from the heart of the town."

Sam began pacing around the room, willing his brain to work as fast as his feet. "But no one died. Some were pretty banged up, sure, but everyone survived. Even the old woman is still hanging on. Vengeful spirits go for the kill."

"I think I have an answer for that, too." Dean motioned Sam over to the computer. Turning the laptop so Sam could see, he continued. "Notice the pattern of the injuries. The first person, who just happened to have been George's girlfriend, managed to turn around and get away before the Mustang could get her. The next two, one a friend of Marc's, the other George's, were run off the road; they only had a few bumps and bruises. The third victim, who apparently was a friend of Marc's, was the first car to actually have been hit by the Mustang; he got jacked pretty good after the Mustang got him in the driver's side. The next two were more serious. A severe concussion and several broken bones for one; massive internal bleeding and broken bones for the other. Both crashes were head-on collisions, and both were at the original accident. I think they were George's friends."

"Which leaves us with the last victim, the old lady and her husband. Mr. and Mrs. Croce are the parents of the late May Croce, Marc's girlfriend who committed suicide a few years after the accident." Dean trailed off, pushing his own guilty feelings to the side. Business first, guilt and whiskey later.

Sam had caught on halfway through Dean's explanation, and was slowly nodding his head. "Right. So now it's going after the people who were there the night Marc died. Or their relatives."

"Right." Dean agreed. "With each attack it seemed like it grew stronger; it was able to do more damage with each new person. It seems to still be confined to Blue Corner's Road, so at least we caught a break there. For now, anyway."

"Great. So now we're dealing with a spirit where we have no bones to salt and burn. Perfect." Sam groused, thumping his fist against the table, causing the laptop and Dean to jump.

"Easy there, Trigger. I already brought that up with Caleb. We think going through with the original plan is best. After all, this whole thing keeps coming back to the cars…the Mustang and the Firebird, then the Mustang and the Impala." Dean said.

"So is there anyone else we have to worry about? Anyone else from that night who may still be in danger?" Before Dean could give an answer, Sam remembered the white Corvette the ghost car had targeted during his watch. "Oh no. The Corvette. Who was that? We have to warn them!" Sam cried.

Dean maneuvered through a few web pages, shaking his head in frustration. "I don't know! According to the information I could get hold of, we've accounted for the only witnesses. Other than George, there should be no one left. I tried calling him after I spoke to Caleb, but he didn't pick up."

"I wonder why Marc's spirit is so furious? Sure he died in a horrible accident way before his time, but it was an accident. The whole game was his idea."

Dean shrugged. "Hopefully our new friend can answer that, too…if we ever get hold of him."

Dean pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans. "Let's try again, shall we?" Unfolding the paper, his forehead wrinkled in confusion before a sheepish grin took over.

"Wrong number." Dean chuckled as he put away the paper with the receptionist's phone number and pulled out the one George had given him.

"You're hopeless." Sam said, not able to hide his own smile.

"Shut up and dial. I'll give Sean a call; find out about the hood ornament. You try George. Oh, and try not to piss him off or the next time he may attack us with a water gun." Dean said as he began to punch in the numbers.

Sam ripped the paper from his Dean's hand and walked towards the bathroom. A few minutes later the two hunters hung up their cell phones.

"Sean got a call from good ol' Uncle George a couple hours ago. He's going to meet us at Greenfields with the hood ornament." Dean reported his success.

"George agreed to meet with us. He sounded…" Sam broke off, searching for the right word.

"Worried?" Dean suggested.

Sam shook his head. "Guilty. He definitely knows more than he told us."

"Well, let's quit wasting time. Looks like we're heading back to Greenfields. I wonder if the beautiful Michelle is still on duty?" Dean smiled as he visualized the things he would do to the beautiful receptionist after the Mustang fiasco played out.

"Only one way to find out." Sam said as he grabbed his coat.

"Uh huh. So, you wanna drive?" Dean asked, dangling the car keys.

"Really?"

"No." Dean smirked as he headed out the door. Sam rolled his eyes. Yes, things were definitely back to normal.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam watched in amusement as Dean checked his hair in the glass double doors. "Dude, you use so much gel it'd take a tornado to mess up your hair."

Dean gave his reflection a sly wink before turning to his brother. "The only thing missing from your head is the handle of the mop, so don't even talk to me about styling, Shaggy. I've gotta look good for my public."

"You've already got her number." Sam pointed out, referring to Greenfield's receptionist, otherwise known as 'Dean's Woman of the Week'.

"Ah, young one. You have much to learn in the art of women." Dean spoke in a polished tone as he placed his hands in Sam's shoulders. "Just because the desired object has been obtained does not mean one can let his guard down."

"I wonder if they have any straightjackets in this place." Sam knocked his brother's hands away as he took a step back. He couldn't help but chuckle as Dean took one last swipe at perfecting his coif.

"Hey, I make crazy look _good_." Dean smiled at his reflection, pleased with what he saw.

Dean pushed open the door just enough so he could squeeze through, letting it slip off his fingers as it closed behind him. A moment later he heard the telltale slap of flesh against glass as Sam moodily pushed the door open. Dean didn't have to turn around to know Sam was rolling his eyes at Dean's antics, but he did anyway.

"Sorry, Sammy, it slipped. Shoulder must be acting up again." Dean smiled angelically, rubbing his right shoulder for dramatic effect.

"How convenient." Sam muttered as they walked into the vestibule.

Dean's face fell as he approached the reception desk. The pretty young blonde he'd courted earlier was no where to be seen. Instead, an older woman of about sixty sat behind the large desk.

"Welcome to Greenfields." she greeted the Winchesters with a friendly smile.

"Yeah, so, uh, where's Michelle?" Dean asked, referring to the pretty blonde receptionist from the morning. His senses were on full alert; his eyes darted around the room while his nose desperately searched for her fruity perfume. But all he found was the white-haired old lady who apparently had taken a bath in her musty perfume before coming in to work.

"Sorry, sweetie, she's gone for the day. Do you want to leave a message?"

Sam stepped up to the desk, elbowing Dean in the ribs. "Actually, we're here to see George White. He's expecting us."

"You want to get your mind back into the game?" Sam hissed under his breath as the receptionist called to announce their presence.

"Oh calm down, Stick. I'm here." Dean grumbled back. He covered his nose with his hand, breathing through his mouth. "We should get a few gallons of that stuff. Spray a bit of that crap around and all the demons'll run for the hills."

The receptionist hung up the phone, saving Dean from receiving another admonishing jab from Sam. "Go right ahead, kids." she said, motioning for them to go on in. After a quick nod of thanks, Sam and Dean made their way back to George's room.

Knowing he'd regret it, Sam just had to ask about Dean's latest nickname for him. "Stick?"

Dean shrugged indifferently. "Seemed to fit. You're freakishly tall, weigh about 80 pounds soaking wet, and you're a major stick in the mud. So…Stick."

Yup, Sam confirmed to himself. He was sorry he asked. Not wanting to give Dean anymore ammo to use, Sam changed the subject.

"Well, this ought to be a piece of cake." Sam said in passing as the made their way down the corridor.

Dean stopped in his tracks. "What did you just say?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Just that George already knows and accepts the whole ghost situation. So all we have to do is get the hood ornament and take down Marc's spirit."

Dean threw his hands in the air. "Well that's just great, Sam. We're screwed now!"

"What?"

"How long have you been doing this, Sam? You never say stuff like that! 'That'll be a piece of cake. Well, it could always be worse!' Crap like that always ends up biting us in the ass." Dean pointed his finger angrily at Sam. "And if I get bit in the ass by anyone or anything tonight, you'd better pray it's pretty little Michelle."

Sam waved away Dean's concerns as he walked the few remaining feet to George's door. He knew he was probably tempting fate, but he couldn't resist messing with Dean just a little more. "Ah, come on, Dean! Lighten up! What's the worst that could happen?" Sam teased as he rapped his knuckles on the door.

Dean was all set to cuff a smirking Sam on the back of the head when the door opened. At George's invitation, Dean pushed past his younger brother, making sure to 'accidentally' step on his foot on the way in.

Dean had just gotten past the threshold when George wheeled in front of him, blocking further access into the room. Although only a few hours had past since their last meeting, George looked as if he'd aged twenty years. His stubbly face was pale and drawn, his lips pressed together in a tight line. His palm was sweaty as he shook Dean's hand.

"George." Dean said sternly. "We've gotta talk."

George gave a tight nod in response. "We sure do. There're some things you failed to mention before."

"We could say the same thing about you, George." Dean shot back, squeezing George's hand a bit harder. Although he kind of liked the man, Dean had already been made a fool of once by him. He refused to be intimidated a second time.

George continued to stare Dean down. "Fine. I'll be straight with you boys if you do the same with me." His own grip tightened as his dark brown eyes flitted between Dean and Sam.

Dean looked back at Sam, who was listening intently in the hallway. "Deal." Dean agreed.

George rolled back a few feet, allowing Dean into the room. Sam followed suit, nodding in greeting as he stood next to Dean. George sat back in his chair and motioned over Dean's shoulder. "Dean, Sam…this here's my nephew, Sean."

"Ah, the keeper of the hood ornament." Dean said smiling as he turned around.

Dean's jaw dropped open. "It's you!"

Sam spun around at Dean's outcry. He had just enough time to wonder why the young man looked so familiar when Sean levied a hard right hook at Sam's jaw.

The force of the blow dropped Sam to his knees. He was vaguely aware of Dean's angry shouting, followed by the telltale sounds of a scuffle. Out of the corner of his eye he saw George's wheelchair rush past, undoubtedly joining the fray. Sam's eyes followed the spinning wheels up to where Dean had the Sean pinned up against the wall.

The collegiate bore the same look of hatred he'd worn when they'd seen him a month ago at Chet's Bar. His brown eyes flashed angrily as he broke away from Dean's hold, nearly pushing him into George. He pushed his blonde hair out of his eyes before launching himself at Dean.

Sam tried to speak, but his throbbing jaw decided it wasn't quite ready to move yet. Gently massaging his chin, Sam made his way back to his feet, holding onto the wall as the room swayed from side to side. Great, now he had a headache _and _his jaw hurt. Couldn't everyone just leave his head alone?

Working his jaw around, Sam tried again. "Dean! Cut it out!"

Sam's words cut through the angry red haze, but Dean wasn't quite through. He landed a solid left to Sean's stomach just as George wheeled into the back of Dean's knees. Both men fell to the ground; Sean holding his stomach, Dean on his hands and knees.

"Dammit, I said 'Enough!'" George roared. His muscular arm pushed Dean out of the way as he rolled over to his nephew. He grabbed the younger man's chin and forced his head upwards.

"You ok, boy?" George asked gruffly.

Sean peeled one arm away from his battered midsection, using it to wipe the trickle of blood coming from his split lip. "Yeah, I'm good." he croaked.

George wheeled around to face all three men. "Good. Now would someone like to tell me what the fuck that was all about?"

Dean spoke from his spot on the floor. "Why don't you ask your bastard nephew? He's the one who sucker punched my brother!"

Sean pushed himself to his feet and glowered down at Dean. "You guys are brothers? Really? How many men did your mother have to sleep with to produce retards like you two?"

Sean's words echoed in Dean's head as all thoughts of Sam and of their mission got pushed to the backburner. This preppie punk had dared insult the honor of his mother; the beautiful blonde angel who had rocked him to sleep as a baby, who'd tucked him in after reading him sweet stories of unrealistic happily ever afters. The woman who'd brought Dean's best friend into the world, instantly turning Dean into a big brother, a protector. The woman whose life had been sacrificed above his baby brother's crib.

Sam pushed away from the wall and managed to grab Dean as he launched himself off the floor at Sean. Hooking an arm around Dean's stomach, he pushed his shoulder into Dean's, forcing him back a few steps. He could feel Dean's fury pulsating beneath his fingers as he tried to keep him away from the smirking Sean.

"Dean! Dean, enough!" Sam shouted as he struggled to maintain his grip. A large part of him wanted to let Dean go, to have him beat the hell out of the asshole who had dared defile his mother's honor, maybe even getting in a few shots of his own once Dean was done. But they still had their job to consider. They didn't yet have the hood ornament. With every anxious second that passed, Sam could virtually see it fading from view.

Sam grabbed Dean's arms and gave him a hard shake. "Dean! Dean, dammit, cut it out! We've still gotta get the hood ornament." he hissed into his brother's ear.

Dean finally tore his eyes away from Sean and locked them onto Sam, who swallowed hard at the coldness in them. He held his breath waiting to see if Dean would make another move for Sean, or possibly even redirect his anger at Sam. It wouldn't be the first time he'd taken a punch from Dean, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

But to Sam's surprise, Dean took a deep breath and held up his hands. "Fine, whatever. Just get the hell off me." he said as he twisted out of Sam's grip.

"I swear if someone doesn't tell me what just happened, by the time I'm finished I won't be the only one in a chair." George growled.

"These assholes jumped me and my buddies last month over at Chet's Bar." Sean explained as he absently rubbed his stomach.

"If you had just helped us out instead of being a bunch of first rate pricks, none of that would've happened. Besides, you and your pretty little boyfriend threw the first punches." Dean shot back in defense. Sam rolled his eyes. He wished, not for the first time, that there was a cosmic off switch he could throw before Dean said something stupid. Of course, then Dean would never be allowed to speak at all. Saving that happy thought for later, Sam stepped up before the tentative truce was broken.

"Our car was stolen when we were in town last month. We asked your nephew and his friends if they knew anything and things got a little out of hand." Sam summed up quickly. What were the chances that George's nephew was one of the kids they'd fought last month? Only in the Wacky World of Winchester were things this screwy.

"So, did you ever find your car?" Sean asked tonelessly.

"No thanks to you." Dean answered hotly.

Sam stepped between the two men, feeling as though he should be wearing a black and white striped shirt and blowing a whistle. "Enough! You two can have your pissing contest when this is all over. But right now, we have a spirit to vanquish before anyone else gets hurt."

Sam turned to George. "Dean caught you up on what we found out, right? About the car and it's victims?"

George nodded. "That it's really Marc's spirit drivin' the ghost car? And that he's goin' after everyone who was there the night he died? Yeah. I swear, I don't know who's crazier...you for sayin' it, or me for believin' it."

Sam shot him a sympathetic smile. It was always tough bringing people into their freaky supernatural world. He almost felt he should apologize for turning the man's world upside down. Instead, he stuck to the matter at hand. "Did you call them?"

"I just finished a few minutes before you boys showed up. I got hold of all of 'em; told 'em to stay away from Blue Corner's Road. Although it was a bitch trying to explain the whole 'Marc's spirit is in a freakin' ghost car' thing to everyone."

"Was there anyone else there that night? Anyone else we need to warn?" Sam asked.

"Nope. Everyone's accounted for." George answered.

"The last time the Mustang showed up, it went after a late model white Corvette. Any idea who that might have been?" Dean was dying to know the identity of the scumbag who had simply driven off after Sam had saved his life, leaving his brother with a concussion for his trouble. He had a lot of people to avenge before their time in Danbury was through; Sam, who had been left for dead while trying to do the right thing. and now his mother. Sean's hateful words burned in his memory. He resisted the urge to have another go at Sean. There'd be time for that later.

"Timmy…one of my buddies. Turns out the Mustang had run him off the road a couple weeks ago. If you hadn't been there, who knows what woulda happened this time around." George broke off with a dry chuckle. "Poor guy's completely freaked. He said he'd never drive on that road again."

That answered that question. But there was still one that remained. Sam approached the subject cautiously.

"There's still one thing I don't get." Sam started.

"One thing?! Uncle George, this is insane! A ghost driving a ghost car...attacking people? Come on, you don't actually believe this crap, do you?" Sean exclaimed.

"It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. But it's happening, and if we don't do something to stop it, someone could die. So unless you have something constructive to offer, shut your cake hole and let the grown-ups talk, okay Pretty Boy?" Dean spat angrily.

Sean glowered at Dean, but said nothing.

Sam waited to make sure no further violence would occur before continuing. "Marc seems to be a vengeful spirit, meaning he's out to extract revenge. Now, obviously he died in a horrific crash way before his time, but that doesn't quite explain his actions."

Dean turned his back to Sean and spoke directly to George. "The game of chicken was Marc's idea. If he felt a sense of wrongdoing over the crash, you would be the only intended victim." he said to George. "But instead he's gone after everyone who was there that night. It doesn't add up."

"So what are you sayin'?" George asked, his eyes narrowing. "You accusin' me of somethin'?"

"No." Sam answered quickly. "It's just doesn't make sense. Marc died in a terrible crash mainly due to his own actions. What could be gained from attacking both your friends and his? If anything, he should be focusing in on you."

"He died. You lived." Dean said succinctly.

Sean stepped into the middle of the room, his face flushed. "Lived? You call this living? He's in a wheelchair! Do you even know what he's gone through these last thirty years? What gives you the right to attack him?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What is this, a soap opera? For crying out loud!"

Sam put a hand on Dean's arm, but directed his words at the George. "No one's accusing you of anything. All we want is to put Marc's spirit at rest before he can go after someone else. He hasn't just gone after the people who were there that night; he's also gone after their relatives. It he can't get at you, he could easily go after your brother, or even Sean. We're only trying to help."

Another Oscar worthy performance by his little brother. Dean felt like applauding. He'd never admit it to Sam, but he sometimes envied the earnest, sensitive way Sam was able to reach people. That was one of the reasons they made such a great team. Sam's good cop helped balance out Dean's bad cop.

Dean felt a sense of triumph as George began to crumble. Just like it had so many times in the past, Sam's puppydog eyes and heartfelt sincerity had prevailed.

George lowered his face into his hands, breathing heavily into his palms. He let out a tortured moan as he leaned as far forward as his body would allow. Sean crossed the room and put a hand on his uncle's shoulder, sending a look of pure hatred at Sam for putting his uncle in this state.

"Fine." George said as he lifted his head. "You're right. There is somethin' from that night we all vowed not to speak of ever again."

"Uncle George?" Sean looked down at his uncle uncertainly.

George reached up and clasped his nephew's hand. "I know why Marc is comin' after us. He didn't die from the crash." He paused ominously. "He died 'cause of us."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

_George has a secret...I bet no one saw that one coming. LOL Oh well. The next chapter will be up (barring any irritating real life interruptions) in 5-ish days. Happy Thanksgiving!!!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: **Well, I promised to post in 5 days,and I made it in 6. Sorry! Also, my apologies for the curse words that slipped in during this chapter. I usually try to keep the nasty words away, but sometimes it just can't be helped!

**The Last Mile**

"What really happened that night, George?" Sam asked softly. This was the part of the job he truly loathed. Everyone had skeletons in their closet. Hell, his own family had enough to headline every Vegas show in existence. But instead of letting secrets stay buried, it was his duty to uncover them, tearing open barely sealed wounds and dousing them with salt. He tried to tell himself he was doing this for a noble cause. Reliving his painful past was obviously tearing George up inside, but it would be nothing compared to the agony he'd feel if someone died because he insisted on living a lie.

George said nothing as he sat still as a statue, the only movement was the tightening of the already intense grip he had on his nephew's hand. If Sean minded, he didn't show it. He endured the painful grip, flames of fury dancing in his eyes as he stared at Sam and Dean.

"I've had about enough of you two." Sean snarled. He walked in front of his uncle, kneeling before him. "You don't owe these jerks anything, Uncle George. Let me call security, toss them out of here."

George chuckled wryly. "It's ok, boy. I don't need you to be my protector." he said fondly. "What I do need is for you to get me a beer."

Sam waited patiently for the older man to begin his story, while Dean tried his best to follow his brother's example. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he watched George take a long swig of beer. Dean's irritation seemed to grow in contrast to the emptying bottle. He was able to compose himself through the first bottle, but when Sean handed his uncle a second, Dean had enough.

"You gonna sit there and drink all day, or are you going to get on with it?" Dean blurted out.

"Dean!" Sam hissed.

"Sam, there's only a couple hours left til sundown. If there's more to this scenario, we need to know it before we head out there." Before Sam could answer, Dean spoke to George. "So, what was it? Did you tamper with his brake lines? Mess with his steering?"

"No!" George shook his head vehemently. "It was a fair run…happened just like I told you. The fight led to the game of chicken, which neither of us was willin' to lose."

"So what…?" Sam broke off, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"After the crash. I honestly wish I had been knocked cold, but somehow I stayed awake for the whole thing. I saw Marc crash into me, so hard the cars almost seemed to bounce off each other. The noise was deafening, and then everything was really quiet." George rubbed the back of his hand underneath his bristly chin. "My head hurt so bad I could barely stand it, but the rest of my body was numb. I tried getting' out, but I couldn't move my arms." George took a deep breath. "That's when I heard him scream."

"Him?" Dean had been watching the events unfold in his imagination, the scenes as vivid as a movie. He'd seen the cars collide, heard the terrifying screams of the girls as they saw George's frantic eyes begging for help inside his Firebird while Marc sat lifeless in the burning Mustang.

"Marc." George said simply.

Dean held up his hand as the scene paused in his mind. "Hold on. I thought Marc died on impact?"

"No." George whispered. "Blood was pouring out of his nose; he musta hit his head on the steerin' wheel. But he was alive." George looked down as he choked out his next words. "And awake."

Sean continued to kneel at his George's side, one hand braced against his stomach while the other still held his uncle's hand. "Oh god. The fire."

A tear slipped down George's cheek as he struggled to continue his confession. "It started right after the crash, the flames shootin' out from under the hood. Marc tried his damndest to get out, but he couldn't get the door open. He yelled at everyone for help, but they all just stood there. The higher the flames got, the louder Marc screamed."

Tears streamed down George's face as he covered his mouth with a shaky hand. Sam began to move towards the aggrieved man, but was stopped by Dean. Pulling Sam back to his side, Dean shook his head somberly. They both knew where the story was going, and a large part of Dean wanted to end it there to spare George from finishing the tale. But they'd come this far, they owed it to the victims of the ghost car to continue.

"I remember yellin' at them to move, to do somethin'. But it was like they were just as paralyzed as I was. One of Marc's buddies finally made a move towards the car, but Timmy held him back, said it was too late to save him. All of the sudden there was this loud explosion, and the fire just leapt up the car to where Marc was sittin'. He just kept screamin' and screamin'. God, I thought he'd never stop." George had covered his ears as he relived the terrible moment, his voice crescendoed with every syllable. Lowering his hands, he took a few deep breaths before continuing.

"I could see Marc through the fire, the flames wrappin' around him like a fur coat. Then, all of a sudden, he stopped. Stopped movin', stopped screamin'. Just stopped. Then he was gone."

George's words hung in the air as the three younger men stood transfixed. Dean looked to his younger brother. Sam always knew the right thing to say. But Sam remained silent, his expressive hazel eyes glistening with emotion. Dean searched for the right words that would absolve George of his guilt, but found none.

Sean had gotten to his feet, looking like he'd just been punched in the stomach. Again. "But, Uncle George, you said yourself Marc couldn't get out. I've seen pictures of the Mustang. It was so bent and twisted that even if your friends had gotten to the car, they couldn't have gotten Marc out."

George laughed bitterly, taking another swipe at his eyes. "That's where you're wrong. After they put the flames out, the rescue workers went to recover what they could of Marc's body. The driver's door opened as easy as you please."

Sam's throat unlocked long enough for him to attempt one question. "But you said Marc tried to get out."

Fresh tears welled in George's eyes, and Sam struggled to keep his own emotions in check. He envied his brother's ability to remain detached, although judging from the pinched expression on Dean's face, it was a battle they were both losing.

"The coroner said Marc had shattered his arm. There was no way he could've gotten out on his own. If only someone had made the effort, if only I'd done something..." George's words trailed off as each man finished the thought in his own mind.

"You were paralyzed! You couldn't even save yourself, let alone do anything for Marc." Sean tried reasoning with his uncle, but his words had no effect.

"Try tellin' that to his ghost, or to the people he's hurt because of us. Because of me." George corrected himself.

Sam cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "You can't blame yourself for what your friends didn't do. There was nothing you could've done."

"I could've told the truth, instead of coverin' for those cowards. Maybe then Marc wouldn't have spent the last thirty years in limbo, or whatever the hell you call it." George spat back hotly.

Dean put his business face back on. He was officially calling this pity party to a close. "Maybe you're right. But you know what? That doesn't matter. What does matter is getting the hood ornament so Sam and I can send his invisible ass where he can't hurt anyone else."

Dean's words put a bit of life back in George's eyes, but it also sparked Sean's ire. "You son of a bitch." Sean growled as he took a menacing step forward.

George expertly rolled in the path of his overprotective nephew, holding an arm out. "Easy there, kiddo. He's got a point." He shifted his gaze to Dean. "You gotta respect a man who doesn't toss around a lot of manure."

Sam couldn't help but laugh at the irony of that comment. Dean held an honorary degree in the art of bullshit. The dirty look he received from Dean coupled with the pent up emotions that had been building during George's emotional confession sent him a bit over the edge as he continued to laugh uncontrollably. Rubbing his hand against his sore jaw, he tried getting himself under control.

"Sorry. It's been a really long, strange day." Sam offered in explanation. _Hell, it's been a strange life, _he thought to himself as the last chuckle died away.

"Anyway," Dean shot a few leftover daggers his brother's way before continuing. "Do you have it?"

George rolled over to his desk and removed a small object from behind the computer. The shiny silver lightening bolt looked far less worn than the man holding it. "So this little thing will be enough to send back Marc's spirit? And get rid of the Mustang?"

"That's the theory. Once Marc's spirit is at rest, the Mustang should be gone as well." Dean answered.

George turned the hood ornament around and around in his hands. "Excuse me for bein' a bit slow, but I just want to make sure I understand what exactly you'll be doin'. So you're plannin' on strappin' this to your car, then reenactin' the events of the crash?" His tone held a doubting quality that the Winchesters unwittingly absorbed.

Sam and Dean gave each other questioning looks. Sam shrugged while Dean slowly answered. "Well, we definitely won't be using the Impala. She's been through enough. But other than that, yeah, I guess."

The truth was, they hadn't actually worked out the fine details of their plan. The Mustang was corporeal; it had already inflicted serious damage to several cars. There was very little hope of a car, let alone it's driver, surviving a head-on collision. Even if by some miracle he did come out with his life intact, his body would certainly be broken. Dean had a horrid flash of himself in a coma, tubes and wires engulfing him like a fly caught in a web.

"We'll wait for the Mustang to make an appearance. Hopefully the hood ornament will be enough to lure it out. Then I'll drive straight at it, just like you did, with the hood ornament attached. At the last second I'll bail out and hope it was enough to vanquish Marc for good." Sam sounded confident, considering he was probably making it up as he went along. Dean had pretty much reached the same conclusion, although he definitely wasn't looking forward to leaping from a car onto the hard pavement. Not a bad plan, although Sam had erred in one minor detail.

"Except I'll be the one driving." Dean said resolutely. No way was he going to let the Mustang have another shot at his baby brother.

Sam actually had the nerve to look surprised at the correction. "What are you talking about? There's no way I'm letting you do it. I have to finish what I started."

"Sam, don't be an ass! I'm the better driver. Not to mention the fact that I'm faster than you, especially given how many times you've bounced your thick head around these last few days." Dean argued back.

"Dammit, Dean, I told you, I'm fine! We can't screw this up again; we've gotta make sure we do this right!" Sam had the astrological advantage in the argument; the stubborn Taurus usually made mince meat out of the strong-willed Aquarius. But Dean was determined to have his way on this. Just as it was Sam's cosmic right to be a bullheaded stubborn ass, it was Dean's right as a big brother to make sure no further harm would come Sam's way, even if it meant further injury to himself.

"I have an even better idea." George broke in. "Neither one of you will be driving." He paused, raising his chin boldly. "I will."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You'll what?"

Dean turned around, his arms out to the side. "Oh yeah. Here we go."

"What…what are you talking about?" Sean was half sitting, half leaning against the small desk in the corner of the room. "Ok, suppose this ghost stuff is real and the Mustang needs to relive the crash. How do you plan on accelerating? Remote control? You're in a friggin' wheelchair!" Sean shouted, his hands flailing in frustration.

"All I need is for one of you to drive me out there. Then when Marc shows up, I'll use a stick to hold down the gas pedal."

"And then what? We tie a rope around your waist and pull you free at the last second? Come on, Uncle George, don't be stupid."

George's pale face began to turn red, his eyes narrowing furiously. Dean quickly spoke up. "He's right. You have no idea how much that pisses me off, but he's got a point. You can't do it, George."

George slammed his fist onto the arm of his wheelchair. "Don't you dare tell me what I can or can't do! You came to _me_, remember? It's my fault all of this crap has happened. I have to be a part of this!"

Sam moved over to the irate man, crouching next to him so they were eye level. "You are a part of this. You told the truth, you brought us the hood ornament. You've given Dean and me the tools we need to set Marc free, to stop him from hurting anyone else. Now you have to let us take over." Sam put his hand on the arm of the wheelchair, not quite touching George's fist. "We know what we're doing, George. We've been doing this stuff our whole lives. Trust us. I promise you, we can do this!"

Dean held his breath, waiting to see if Sam's impassioned words would sway George to relent. It really didn't matter either way; if George refused to hand over the hood ornament Dean would take it from him, handicapped or not. It would also present him another opportunity to take a few more swings at Sean. However, it would be nice to go into the final stages of the hunt with George's blessing instead of having to take the hood ornament from him like some schoolyard bully.

George and Sam held each other's gaze for several long moments before the older man finally broke, looking down with a heavy sigh. He picked up the unopened beer bottle from the floor, looking at in sorrowfully.

"Pick up some beer on your way back. This here's my last bottle, and I plan on gettin' completely shit-faced before the night is through."

Sam gave him a grim smile while gently resting his hand on George's arm. "I think we can manage that. I'm sure my brother will give you a run for your money."

Dean closed his eyes in relief. Once again Sensitive Sam swooped in and saved the day. He gave his brother an approving nod as he watched him start to take the hood ornament. Unfortunately George moved his hand just as Sam reached for it, and the two men bumped into each other, sending the lightening bolt tumbling to the floor.

Dean smiled at his brother's clumsy antics as the younger man bent to reach for the hood ornament. The kid had never really grown into his lanky limbs. He checked his watch, calculating how much time they had to procure a car before nightfall.

A sharp cry snapped Dean's attention back to the center of the room, where Sam lay sprawled facedown on the carpet. Large pieces of glass surrounded his head; a few slivers glinted in his dark hair. George looked at Dean with a hint of fear in his eyes, the broken neck of the beer bottle still in his hand.

Dean was shocked by the sudden turn of events; for a moment he could only stare at his brother's prone body. The light reflected off the broken glass, snapping him out of his stupor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he shouted as he moved towards Sam. He'd only taken one step when he felt something hard smash into the back of his skull. His forward momentum took him one step further before his legs gave out. Falling to the ground, Dean landed a few inches from his unconscious brother. George's sad apology was the last thing he heard before the darkness claimed him.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam had solved many mysteries in his young life, but this latest conundrum was proving to be beyond his capabilities. He tried to think rationally, but the pain in his head was making the task a formidable one. The first thing he had to work out was the reason for the all encompassing darkness. The lack of drafty air and damp stone ruled out a cave. Besides, what the hell would he be doing in a cave in the first place? Oh god, maybe he'd gone blind! Sam moved his hand, intending to perform the standard Waving One's Hand in Front of One's Face routine. Sam paused as his hand glided over what felt like a rug. It was then that he noticed the hard surface running the entire length of his body. Like a chubby six year old with crayons, Sam was finally able to connect the dots. He was lying on the floor. Which means he had probably been hit or knocked out. That would also mean that the darkness was due to the fact that his damn eyes were shut. Feeling like a fool he silently chastised himself. _Brilliant deduction, College Boy_.

Testing his hypothesis, Sam pushed open his eyelids, wincing as the bright light assaulted his sensitive eyes. Sam blinked slowly as the world slowly came into focus. He drew in a sharp breath as the unconscious form of his brother materialized before him.

"Dean!" Sam croaked, pushing himself up. He got as far as his elbows before a wave of dizziness hit him, forcing his head back down to his arm. Deciding it was best to stay in that position for a moment, Sam tried again to rouse Dean.

"Dean." Nothing. Sam pushed his vocal cords to their maximum. "Dean!!"

Dean's green eyes flew open, only to squeeze shut again. "Ow." he moaned.

"Uh huh." Sam muttered. He tried moving again, this time getting to his knees. One mighty push almost sent him backwards, but he was able to catch himself at the last minute. Now sitting upright, he turned his attention to Dean.

"Dean. You awake?"

"Don' wanna be." Dean slurred, his eyes still tightly shut.

"Yeah, well, join the club." Sam said ruefully. He craned his neck to get a closer look at the large lump on the base of Dean's skull. His hand went to the back of his own head as he found the evidence of his latest head trauma.

"Hey, we're twins." Sam said as he gingerly rotated his head.

That got Dean's attention. He opened his eyes, and stared blankly at Sam. "What?"

Sam pointed at Dean, then showed off his own bump. "We've got matching wounds." He sniffed his sticky hand before wiping it on the carpet. "There's beer in my hair." he said, mystified.

"Swell." Dean's voice was strained as he pushed himself to a sitting position.

The two Winchesters sat eyeing each other as more of what had transpired came back to them.

"You ok?" Sam and Dean asked at the same time.

"Fine." They answered jointly.

Dean barked out a laugh. "We're spending way too much time together."

The corner of Sam's mouth quirked up into a half smile. He picked up a piece of the broken glass. "So I take it I was hit by a beer bottle again."

"Yeah." Dean's eyes narrowed as he gave Sam a good once over. "You sure you're ok?"

Sam regarded him for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet. He refused to give in to the wave of vertigo, clenching his fists as the room settled beneath his feet. "I'm fine." He reached down to help Dean to his feet. "You?"

Sam held Dean's arm steady as the older man found his balance. Emerald green eyes blinked blearily at Sam. "Yup." Dean looked as rotten as Sam felt, but they didn't have time to deal with that now.

"So, Sean and George are gone, along with the hood ornament. Perfect. Just perfect." Dean grumbled. "That kid'll need his own wheelchair by the time I'm done with him."

"I should've seen it coming." Sam lamented. "George gave in way too easily. I should've known he wouldn't just hand it over. He has too much invested in this to sit on the sidelines."

"Yeah, well, we can worry about that later. Right now we have to get out there and stop them before George gets himself killed." Dean said as he checked his watch. The sun had set about an hour ago. There was a slight chance Marc wouldn't come after George, seeing as there was no physical way he could've rescued Marc all those years ago. However, the addition of the hood ornament into the equation left the outcome a little too fuzzy for Dean's liking. Fishing for his keys, he rifled through his pockets. His frown deepened as his search became more frantic. He looked up at Sam with frightened eyes.

"Sam, please tell me you have the keys." Dean pleaded as he continued to pat himself down.

"Oh crap." Sam breathed.

"Dammit, they took my car!" Dean yelled as he flung open the door. Sam raced after his brother, ignoring the shocked looks they received as they raced through the corridors. Using a spin move Emmett Smith would've been proud of, Sam neatly avoided a mother and her daughter as he ran through the lobby. He fought through the dizziness as he tried to catch up to his brother.

Dean tore through the parking lot, his head pounding in rhythm with every step. "I can't believe they stole my car!" he yelled. The words had barely left his mouth when he spotted the dusty black Impala right where he'd left it. Dean stopped in his tracks, his jaw slack.

"No way." Dean said. The Chevy still bore the dents and scrapes from the night before, but to Dean she'd never looked more beautiful. He grinned at a stunned Sam as he continued towards his car. "It's about damn time something went our way."

Sam winced. "Ah, Dean?" Unless Sam was seeing things, and given his latest head injury that was entirely possible, the car seemed a bit lower to the ground than normal. He walked behind his brother, not wanting to witness the crestfallen expression on his face once he noticed the tires.

"No. No, no, no, no, no!" Dean circled his car in dismay. "You've gotta be friggin' kidding me! It's not enough to take the keys; they had to slash all four tires? How the hell did they know which car was mine?"

Sam stood back as Dean continued to stalk around the car. "Uh, you sort of told him. The first time we came to see George."

Dean ran his hand along the top of the driver's door. After all the suffering his baby had endured over the last twenty-four hours, this latest attack was the final indignity. He really needed something to hit. He could only hope the Mustang left the Whites alone long enough for Dean to avenge the wrongs inflicted on his family.

Dean grabbed Sam's jacket and yanked him away from the car. "Come on. We've gotta find a new ride. Now." He gave his car one last look. "I'll be back, baby."

Sam knew better than to argue with his brother when he was this angry. He allowed himself to be pulled along towards the back corner of the parking lot where the cars stood in the shadows. Dean finally came to a stop in front of a silver Ford Focus. Sam used his tall body as a shield while Dean made quick work of the lock. In less than a minute Dean was in the driver's seat as the car peeled out of the parking lot.

"I still can't believe it." Dean muttered as he steered the stolen car through the town.

Sam shrugged ruefully. "It makes sense. George has had to deal with being the lone survivor of the crash, and the secret of how Marc really died for over thirty years. Then we came along and showed him a way to get absolution. I just wish he hadn't felt the need to bash us over the head to get it." he finished as he picked another piece of glass out of his hair.

Dean did a quick double take. "What? No, not that. Guilt and regret I get. What I don't understand is how he could slash all four tires like that. I mean, he had to have seen the state she was in. I mean, he's a classic car guy! A man just doesn't do that to another man's car!"

Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. "That's what you're pissed at? The man knocked me out cold, and you're mad about _tires_?

"Hey, I got hit too, remember? That kind of stuff happens in our line of work. Quite often, actually." Dean paused as numerous flashes of the two of them getting cold-cocked flashed through his memory. Shaking his head he brought himself back to the present. "That comes with the territory. But what he did…."

"You have issues. Really." Sam said. "If it makes you feel better, it had to have been Sean who slashed the tires. George couldn't have done it."

Dean smiled dangerously. "Oh believe me, I know. I'm keeping track of the score on that little bastard."

They fell silent as Dean blew through every yellow light, and even a few red ones. Sam's heart was racing as fast as the engine. What if they didn't get there in time? He voiced his fear to Dean, hoping his older brother would allay his concerns.

"I'm going as fast as I can Sam." Dean responded. "Don't worry. We'll make it." Dean was an accomplished liar to everyone except his little brother. He could tell by the tightening of Sam's jaw that he didn't believe the words anymore than Dean did. Gritting his own teeth, Dean pressed down hard on the gas pedal, willing the little car to go faster.

The closely laid houses began to give way to larger sprawling homes surrounded by lush trees. A mile after they passed the last house the headlights reflected off of the street sign for Blue Corner's Road.

"Dean! Turn right."

"I know, Sam."

"We don't even know what kind of car Sean's driving."

"Sam, in the past ten miles we've only seen one other car. Besides, they'll either be parked, waiting for the Mustang to appear, or…" Dean trailed off.

"Or it's already shown up, in which case we're probably looking for a smashed-up car with George's mangled body inside." Sam leaned forward, his hazel eyes searching desperately for George and Sean.

"Yeah." Dean said softly as he gripped the wheel even tighter. As the car climbed up a small dip in the road, Dean was able to make out two square red lights further up the road.

"Dean." Sam said in a strangled voice.

"I see it." Dean answered back just as tensely. A navy blue Cavalier sat on the gravelly shoulder. Dean was able to determine the little two-door held two passengers. It had to be them. Dean snorted in disgust. "A Cavalier. The kid drives a chic car. You'd think George, being the car guy that he is, would've talked him out of that choice."

Dean spun the wheel hard to the right, placing the stolen car directly in front of the Cavalier. Both Winchesters lurched violently forward as Dean slammed on the brakes.

Sam's entire brain seemed to be pushing against his forehead, as if trying to escape. After all Sam had put it through these last couple days, he was surprised it was functioning at all. Squinting through the pain, he gave his brother a dirty look.

"Was that really necessary?" Sam moaned as he pushed his fingertips against his brow.

Dean's elbows rested on the steering wheel as he held his aching head. "Yeah, that kinda sucked." he agreed.

Dean took a deep breath and looked to his left. The full moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the empty road before them. The Mustang hadn't shown yet, but the night was still early. They had to get the hood ornament back and get the Whites out of there.

Sam looked questioningly to Dean, who gave a terse nod in response. Dean would stay in the car just in case the Mustang showed before they could get the Whites to safety.

Sam approached the driver's side of the Cavalier. Sean rolled down the window just enough to be heard.

"Get out of the way."

"Sean, George, listen to me." Sam yelled through the crack in the window. "You're in serious danger. Please, give me the hood ornament."

George shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I got us into this, and I'm gonna get us out."

Sam resisted the urge to check for the Mustang. He had to focus all his energy on convincing George to give up the hood ornament. He shook his head. "You're wrong. Everyone played a part in this. It was Marc's idea for the game of chicken in the first place. It was the others who stood by while Marc died. You can't put all this on your shoulders." Sam swallowed to get the dryness out of his throat before adding his own confession. He gave them an abbreviated version of the events of last month. "Somehow my actions allowed it to become corporeal. That's when it started going after your friends." he finished grimly.

George blinked rapidly as he processed what Sam had just told him. He set his jaw stubbornly. "You can say whatever you want. This all falls back on me. You know it, I know it, and I'm sure Marc knows it. The fact is, I'm not lettin' some young kid risk his life to correct my mistake." George replied resolutely.

Sean looked conflicted, as if he wanted to speak up, but was afraid. Sam focused in on him.

"Sean, come on, this is crazy! Are you really going to stand by and watch your uncle get killed? Dean and I can handle this. If you let him go through with this, he will not survive. I can promise you that."

Sean caught his lower lip between his teeth. "Uncle George, maybe he's right. I mean, I don't see how--"

"Sean." George spoke so low Sam almost didn't hear him. But that one word held enough weight to lower Sean's gaze in defeat.

Sam was getting nowhere. If his words wouldn't do the trick, his actions would have to do. He searched to find something he could use to smash open the window. If they wouldn't give up the hood ornament, Sam would just have to take it from them.

"Dude, what's the hold-up?" Dean shouted from the silver car. Sam opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. A bright light had appeared from behind him, followed by the loud roar of a revving motor. Sam froze, feeling quite literally like a deer in headlights. He'd recognize that sound anywhere. The ghost car and it's invisible driver had come to play.

Sean stared into the menacing light of the Mustang as a mixture of horror and fascination played across his features. He grabbed onto George's arm, but the older man didn't respond to the touch. George's lower lip trembled slightly; thirty years of emotional turmoil and secrets had led to this moment. He heard Sean say his name, but he was unable to speak.

Sitting behind the wheel of the tiny silver car, it was Dean Winchester who best summed up the situation.

"Oh shit."

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

_Only one chapter left! I just have to write the darn thing. I'm also going to work up the courage to start privately thanking the lovely people who have left reviews. However, if you don't receive an answer from me, it's only because I chickened out. So please know that I appreciate each and every review...they truly have meant the world to me._


	16. Chapter 16

"Oh shit." Dean cursed at the sight of the large black car. He tried to determine if Marc was behind the wheel, but the Mustang's high beams made it impossible to tell. It didn't really matter; the car was going to make it's move either way. Judging from past experience, they only had a few minutes before the ghost car began it's deadly drive towards them.

Dean turned away from the bright lights of the Mustang, blinking away the dots that floated around his brother like a multicolored solar system. Sam stood still as a statue next to the blue Cavalier, his right arm outstretched . Great. They were mere moments away from another supernatural showdown, and his brother was doing his best imitation of a pigeon's toilet. Dean yelled out his brother's name, punctuating the act with a long beep of the horn.

Sam's head whipped around, the cold wind blowing his long hair in every direction. His arm slowly lowered as his wide eyes searched out his brother's face. Dean opened the door and put his left leg onto the pavement, keeping his right hand on the wheel. Taking in a deep breath, he yelled across the top of the car.

"Sam! Move your ass!"

That did it. The dazed look on Sam's face was replaced with one of grim determination as he gave Dean a terse nod. Dean got back inside and put the car in gear. They were on Marc's timetable now. He had to be ready to act when the ghost car did, whether he had the hood ornament or not.

Sam slammed his fist against the window of the blue car, startling it's passengers.

"George! We've gotta move now! Give me the hood ornament!" Sam shouted.

George stretched forward in the passenger seat and hung the hood ornament from the rear view mirror. The silver lightening bolt spun slowly as it dangled from the twine cord.

"You boys get me behind the wheel. Then Sam, I want you to get Sean the hell away from here." George said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. A golf club was gripped tightly in his hand, presumably to be used to hold the gas pedal down.

Sean shook his head empathically. "No way. I won't let you do this." The teenager turned to Sam. "Get him out of the car. I'll do it."

"The hell you will!" George exploded.

Unbelievable. They were seconds away from danger, and these two morons were wasting time arguing who would sacrifice themselves. Sam's patience went out the window as he embraced his inner Dean. Slamming his fist against the glass, he let loose. "If you don't open the goddamn door right now, we're all gonna die! Get out of the fucking car! Now!"

Sam heard the telltale click of the lock unlatching, and he ripped open the door. He reached in to get the hood ornament only to have his wrist grabbed by an incensed Sean.

"This is not your fight!" Sean growled as he tried to push Sam away. "I'm the only one who can do this! Uncle George can't do it!"

Sam risked a glance to his left. Dean popped his head over the top of the silver car, his eyes screaming at Sam to hurry. Sam looked over Dean's shoulder. The Mustang still sat in the same spot, the engine quietly idling. Sam was willing to bet it wouldn't begin the game until one of the opposing cars was in position. With their stolen car parked horizontally in front of Sean's car, there was no way either of them could participate in the ghost's game of chicken.

Sam yanked his arm free and took a step backwards. "Fine! Then get your ass out here and help me get your uncle out."

George made a grab for the younger man as he made his way out of the car. "Sean! Dammit, I won't let you do this!"

Dean was getting whiplash as his head frantically swiveled from the Mustang far off on his left to the verbal war on his right. The action on both fronts seemed to be at a stand still.

"How long does it take to get a friggin' piece of metal?" he muttered to himself as he watched Sam gesture wildly. Apparently whatever Sam had said hit home. After wrenching open the door, Sam dove headfirst into the car. A few seconds later he reemerged, his hands empty.

"That's it." Dean got back into the car to turn off the engine. If Sam was incapable of retrieving the hood ornament from a preppie teenager and his paralyzed uncle, Dean would have to do it for him.

Dean had just turned the key to the off position when a startled shout drew his attention. Feeling like a jack-in-the-box, Dean once again sprung up from the compact car. His jaw fell open as he watched Sean leap from the Cavalier and rush full force into Sam, taking them both to the pavement.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted as he bolted from the car. The Mustang was temporarily forgotten as Dean ran to his brother's rescue. Dean darted around the Ford Focus, then skidded to a halt. Sam was kneeling over a struggling Sean, his arm upraised to deliver the knockout blow. Sam's fist smashed into Sean's cheek with a resounding crack. The younger boy's had whipped to the side and he fell limp instantly.

"And stay down!" Sam panted as he sat back on his haunches.

Dean shook his head in wonder. He was really going to have to stop underestimating his baby brother.

"Not bad." Dean began. Whatever else he might've said was drowned out by the sound of an engine springing to life. Dean spun around just in time to see the Cavalier jerk backwards.

"George, no!" Sam scrambled to his feet.

George was holding down the gas pedal using the golf club. His left hand gripped the steering wheel as he tried navigating the car from the passenger seat. After moving the blue car back from the silver one, he awkwardly used his left hand to put the car back into drive.

Up the road, the shiny black Mustang revved it's engine.

The Cavalier took off, weaving back and forth as George tried to keep it under control. Narrowly missing an unconscious Sean, the blue car moved past the Ford Focus and onto the road.

The Mustang began to creep forward.

Sam and Dean raced to their car, cuss words flying as fast as their heartbeats. Gravel shot in every direction as the little car turned from the shoulder onto the pavement.

The Mustang straddled the dotted white lines as it went full throttle, hurtling down the road towards the Cavalier.

Dean yearned for the Impala's powerful engine as he smashed the gas pedal to the floor.

An odd flickering of light lit up the interior of the Mustang. A young man with jet black hair and coal black eyes appeared behind the wheel, only to disappear a second later.

The Cavalier now maintained a straight course as it hurtled towards the ghost car. Less than fifty yards now separated the two cars. The Ford Focus trailed behind the Cavalier, trying desperately to catch up.

Another flash of light came from the Mustang as the ghostly driver reappeared, an unearthly howl streaming from it's shimmering lips.

George's own scream of terror mingled with the ghost's as he braced himself for the crash.

The impact of the two cars colliding seemed to shake the earth. The smaller Cavalier bounced backwards while the bulkier Mustang stood it's ground. Glass shards flew through the air as the metal twisted around it.

"Dean!" Sam screamed. He grabbed the dashboard and closed his eyes as he prepared for the deadly impact.

Dean frantically yanked the steering wheel to the left. He held his breath as the silver car scraped against the back end of the ruined Cavalier. Once they were clear of the wreckage, Dean slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed wildly before coming to an abrupt stop.

Dean sat back in his seat, wincing from the impact of the seatbelt on his barely healed shoulder. Cradling his right arm, he turned his head towards the passenger seat.

"Sam? You ok?"

Sam's outstretched hand was still braced against the dashboard, his head lowered to his chest. He slowly raised his head at his brother's concerned voice, shaking the hair out of his eyes.

"Fine." Sam answered as he massaged the back of his neck. His hazel eyes widened. "Oh god. George!"

Terrified at what they might find, the brothers got out and ran towards the wreckage. There was no sign of the Mustang or it's driver; not even a piece of metal remained.

Sam's heart sank as he approached the Cavalier. The front end was mangled beyond recognition. A wisp of smoke floated lazily from somewhere beneath the distorted hood. The air bags had gone off, blocking Sam's view of the front seats. He jogged a few feet to the side, keeping a nervous eye on the snakelike tendrils of smoke that continued to seep through the twisted metal.

"Oh god." Sam gasped as George came into view. The old man's face was covered in a thick mask of blood, most likely coming from the deep gash on his forehead. His mouth was slightly agape, though Sam couldn't tell if any air was passing through his lips.

"Sam."

Sam followed his brother's gaze to the front of the Cavalier where a tiny orange flame was playing peek-a-boo from beneath the hood.

There was no time for discussion. A tense look passed between the brothers as both realized what they had to do. Racing forward, Dean got to the passenger door a split second before Sam. He yanked hard on the door only to let go with a cry of pain as his shoulder exploded in agony. Apparently the seatbelt had done more damage than he originally thought.

Sam brushed past his brother and grabbed the door handle. His muscles burned as he heaved with all his might. With a loud yell Sam was able to get the door open a few inches. He wrapped his long fingers into the small space and pulled on the door. Sam grunted as he felt the cold metal cut into his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he managed to get the door open enough for Dean to slip his left hand in. With Dean's strong hand pushing against the window frame, they were able to get the door open.

Blood dripped from Sam's hands as he fumbled with the seatbelt clasp. He still didn't know if the older man was alive, but there was no time to check. If the growing sea of orange and yellow flames was any indication, an explosion was only moments away.

Sam cursed as his blood-slicked fingers slid on the metal clasp. Dean's frantic voice urged him on as Sam struggled with the contraption. He gave a cry of victory as he felt it finally give. Sam grabbed George and tugged, getting his limp body halfway out of the car. Dean grabbed onto George's legs, doing his best to ignore the excruciating pain in his shoulder as he and Sam got George clear.

"Go, go, go!" Dean shouted as they ran as fast as they could away from the burning Cavalier. They had just gotten past the silver Focus when a loud explosion ripped through the air. The three men were thrown to the ground from the shockwave as burning pieces of metal shot through the air.

Dean tried making himself a smaller target for the flying shrapnel by bringing his knees up to his chest and covering his head with his hands. He winced every time he heard the horrible sound of the falling metal crash into the pavement, praying that one of those pieces wouldn't find it's way to his brother.

Dean cautiously raised his head. After what seemed like an eternity, the only sound he was aware of was the ringing in his ears. He was relieved to discover that he was relatively intact, despite the fire that continued to wreak havoc inside his shoulder. Peering over George's still body, he anxiously called over to Sam.

Sam brought his head up from his forearm and blinked dazedly. He began to rub his forehead, only to hiss at the stinging in his fingers. Carefully placing his palms on the road, he pushed himself onto his knees.

"I'm ok." Sam answered his brother, warily flexing his bloody digits. "Are you?"

Dean wasn't able to hide the pain he was in as he too made his way into a sitting position. "Yeah, I'll live." he answered through gritted teeth.

Sam crawled over to George and carefully pulled him onto his back. Sam bit his lip as he checked for a pulse. His relief was palpable as he looked over at Dean.

"He's alive." Sam said. But Dean's gaze was fixed at a point over Sam's shoulder.

The Mustang had reappeared and was parked a few feet behind the Winchesters, looking just as it had before the crash. The ghost of Marc Lawler sat behind the wheel, silently watching the proceedings before him.

"Sam."

"Yeah, I see him."

A low moan sounded as George's eyelids fluttered. His brown eyes blinked open and zeroed in on the apparition. Marc stared down at the gray haired man, his hands slowly rubbing the top of the steering wheel.

"Marc…" George's scratchy voice caught in his throat. He swallowed painfully and tried again to speak but failed.

Marc looked from the wounded man to the still smoldering Cavalier, then back again. Locking eyes with each of the three men before him, he gave George a forgiving nod before slowly fading from sight. The Mustang followed a moment later, the quivering air the only indication it was ever there.

George's eyes had slipped closed just after the Mustang vanished. After making sure he was still breathing, Sam pulled out a handkerchief to staunch the blood still flowing from the wound on George's forehead.

Dean made a quick call to 911. He winced at the sharp pain that shot through his shoulder as he placed the phone back in his pocket. "I think I screwed up my shoulder again."

"You can't blame me for that one. You were driving, not me." Sam was quick to defend himself before Dean could find a way to pin the injury on him.

George moaned as Sam adjusted the pressure on his head. Sam looked down at him worriedly. "I hope he'll be ok."

Dean nodded silently, then took another look at the destroyed Cavalier. A small smile played on the corners of his mouth. "I hope the cops bring their cameras."

Sam wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "What for?"

Dean grinned. "Can you imagine the look on Sean's face once he sees what's left of his car? I think I'll get it blown up to an 8x10 and mail it to him for Christmas." Dean's jaw dropped open as he did his finest Macaulay Culkin imitation.

Sam couldn't help but laugh at Dean's one-handed impression. "You are such an idiot."

Dean dropped his hand and chortled, making Sam laugh even harder. When the ambulance sirens came screaming up Blue Corner's Road, they were still laughing.

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Several hours later Sam and Dean sat in George's hospital room waiting for the unconscious man to wake up. Dean wiggled his shoulders, trying to get comfortable in his sling.

"Dude, would you cut it out?" Sam had watched Dean fidget with his new accessory for the last fifteen minutes. "It's not the first time you've had to wear one of those."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I'm going to add it to my daily wardrobe." Dean said as he continued to pull on the sling. He took comfort in the fact that he'd only reaggravated the previous injury. A few days of rest and his shoulder would be good as new.

Sam swallowed his retort as George stirred. Sam got out of his chair and walked over to the bed.

"Hey George. You with us?"

George slowly reached his hand up the thick white bandage on his forehead. "What happened?"

Sam looked over at Dean, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, _Your call._

Sam cleared his throat nervously. "What do you remember?" he asked softly.

George closed his eyes. He was silent for so long Sam thought he'd fallen asleep. Suddenly his eyes shot open. "Oh god. Marc."

Sam put a bandaged hand on George's shoulder. "It's ok. He's gone."

"Gone? As in… 'gone?'"

"Uh huh." Dean answered. "You did it. Nearly got yourself killed, by the way, but yeah. Marc's gone."

George's eyes began to fill as he looked from one brother to the other. A large tear trickled down George's cheek as he shut his eyes again. "So it's over."

Taking a swipe at the tear, George looked around the room. "Where's Sean?"

"Your brother's here. He and Sean are finishing up with the doctor. You were damn lucky, George." Dean said seriously. "You walked away with a shattered left leg, a few broken ribs, and a concussion. But you'll live."

" 'Walked away?'" George teased with the hint of a smile.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Just then Sean walked into the room. Of the four men, he'd fared the best. Other than a darkening bruise on his chin, he looked like he'd just stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. He took the time to glare at the Winchesters before smiling fondly at his uncle.

"Hey, Uncle George. How ya feeling?" Sean asked softly as he approached the hospital bed.

"Like I just played a game of chicken with a ghost car." George said wanly.

Sean's smile faded as he looked at Sam and Dean. "The cops want to talk to you. They have some questions about what happened."

Dean got up from his chair. "I think that's our cue to leave." he said to Sam.

"They're waiting in the lobby. If you take a left out of the room, there's a set of stairs you can use to avoid them." Sean sounded as if helping the Winchesters was causing him physical pain.

Sam raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Really?"

Sean sighed. "Look. You risked your lives to save my uncles, so I guess I owe you."

"You also owe me four new tires." Dean said.

"Yeah, well you owe me a whole new car!" Sean snapped back.

"We didn't blow up your car. You can thank your uncle for that!"

Sam stepped between the two men. "Guys, enough!" Turning to Dean, he continued. " We've got to get out of here before the cops come looking for us. The last thing we need is to be arrested for stealing a car." Sam said.

"Fine." Dean relented. He turned to George. "Take care of yourself, ok?"

"Thanks, boys. For everythin'." George said sincerely.

Dean began to leave, then stopped suddenly. He turned to Sean. "There's just one more thing before we go."

Dean reared back and launched a powerful left hook right onto Sean's cheek. The teenager flew backwards and landed in a heap on the floor. Dean shook his stinging hand and gave a satisfied grin. He looked from the semiconscious teen to his appalled uncle.

"Ok. Now we can go."

Sam gave George an apologetic smile as he followed him out into the hallway.

Dean glanced over at Sam. "So now I suppose you're going to yell at me for punching Sean."

Sam surprised Dean by laughing. "Actually, I think he got exactly what he deserved. If my hands weren't so messed up, I probably would've beaten you to it."

Dean laughed. "I knew eventually I could kick the do-gooder out of you. I'm glad to see I can still corrupt you, little brother."

They reached the stairs, and Sam carefully held open the door for his brother. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Sean slashing the tires really pissed me off." He shook his head. "We need to find a tire place ASAP; get the Impala up and running."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so suddenly you're all concerned about my car? Apparently you've forgotten all the crap you did to her."

"Dean, what happened with me was an accident. Sean slashed the tires on purpose. There's a huge difference."

"The only difference I see is how much time and money I'm going to have to waste bringing her back to her full glory. And I'm going to have a bitch of a time working on her with my shoulder all screwed up."

Sam sighed. Dean was determined to be the host of his pity party. Sam tried a new tactic.

"The Impala may have suffered a bit, but she saved the life of George's friend last night. She's a hero." Sam inwardly groaned at his use of pronouns. Apparently there was no limit to the things he'd do for his brother.

Dean smiled fondly. "True. You know, we didn't do too badly either. We saved George's life, and freed a spirit."

They'd reached the bottom floor, and this time it was Dean who held open the door. "Not too bad, huh." Sam smiled.

Dean turned around and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Not bad, Sammy. Not bad at all."

**The End**

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All done! I wish I could come up with a fancy new way to thank everyone who has followed along, but nothing comes to mind. So I guess I'll just stick with the basic, but heartfelt Thank You!! Since I probably won't be posting anything until after Christmas (unless my muse gets restless), I wish all of you the Merriest Christmas, Happiest Hanukkah, or whatever else you might celebrate. Happy Holidays!


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